Here’s what a month can do for a person: realize first and foremost that I haven’t posted anything in a month. Fittingly, things haven’t been calm. Well, they were calm, now they’re not so calm, and…as always, time to reevaluate things. I wouldn’t take the time to reevaluate a perfect world, but I guess my world isn’t perfect. I’ve fucked up more things than I’d care to remember, but as in salsa, I have a counter to every misfire, and a reversal to every counter that was countered.
I thought my personal life had improved, but I guess the recent falls of Tiger Woods and Chris Henry mirrors my horrible run of luck. Things go well, I want more, more isn’t gotten, rinse, lather, repeat. I’ve made my mistakes. She’s made her mistakes. Now, there’s the lingering idea that we’re not comfortable around each other, although I thought that had changed. I can’t be comfortable around her if she’s not comfortable around me. Few days into break, here I am, typing. We’re still not a we…something that killed me earlier, and it’s starting to kill me again.I can’t begin to put my opinions in this missive, because the logic involved would destroy a Sarcasmatron. If someone actually invented a Sarcasmatron, I’d be happy. I tried to end things, got rebuffed, lured back in. I get closer, she pushes away. Now, I hear that just maybe we can’t be repaired. Let me reword that statement, since there is no “we”: she doesn’t think she’ll feel comfortable again. I’m about to lose my valet. I was over the whole title thing, because titles…I like having them on my wall, but they’re expensive. People kill other people for titles. I’ve killed for a title that never came. I can’t get over not feeling comfortable, though, because that means that everytime I’m around her, she’s going to have her doubts. If she has her doubts, I’ll have my doubts. If we have our doubts, she’ll want to try to ease through them by dancing, which my body has rejected in an emphatic fashion. She’ll be around me, but now, I can’t be around her. In the agreement, I gave her salsa club and salsa team if things went sour. The enthusiasm I had for dancing that was starting to rebuild is gone; I could care less about salsa. Planning on staying in Long Beach was a mistake, which brings me too…
Not completely nuking my chances at other schools. Subconsciously, I’ve fucked up a few applications because I wanted to come back here. However, some, maybe all may still be in play. Depending on leniency, I have a superb shot at getting multiple schools; my professors gave me glowing letters of recommendation. Really, I was left in awe. I wanted to stay here to see if I could develop roots to probably settle down; now I want to continue with taking over Big Tobacco. I’ll have my money to keep me warm, as well as the smoke from a lit harmless cigarette. Skibbedebebop. Much later.
Current Track – The Used “Yesterday’s Feelings”