Girl, You So Well Spoken!

"I must learn to love the fool in me-the one who feels too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me from that utterly self-controlled masterful tyrant, whom I also bore and who would rob me of my human aliveness, humility, and dignity, but for my fool." - t.i. rubin

does that sound completely crazy to you??

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you should know that he kind of disappeared. or maybe you'd say that he appears to be slowly fading to black. or maybe he's just gotten too busy. not t.i. rubin. "him". go figure. [...go figure?]

i should have known, right? maybe. maybe not. perhaps he is fickle, and his amorous attention is fleeting, will always be fleeting. or perhaps i'm too much. did i over-text? did i call too much? did i shove too many characters onto that little white blackberry screen? or perhaps it is nothing at all, i'm imagining it all in a crazy, paranoid, stage-5-clinger kind of way. i'm impatient. and prone to elevated expectations. so 0 to 60 in 2.46 seconds, then stalling out halfway around the track leaves me feeling... frustrated. 

maybe we'll try another extended metaphor:

it feels like... like he is food. and me, a bulimic. seeking to keep "love" thin and malnourished, i go without for days, weeks, months... then, suddenly, there he is. glorious and fattening. i despise him and i desire him all at once. so i lock myself in my bedroom and i eat up every morsel he has to offer. i lick the wrappers. i stick my thin, trembling fingers into each now-emptied container, scooping out whatever remains. and all the while i loathe myself. my stomach begins to pain me. but i cannot stop and i will not stop until it is all finished. or, at least, i continue to overindulge until he is finished. then, the food is gone. and all there is left, is me. a self-loathing bulimic. with sticky mouth and fingers. a gut full of him. and a strong desire to purge myself. 

so what i'm saying is...

well, as usual, that i don't know what i'm saying. 

except that sometimes i feel to much. i take too many chances. i lose often. and i lack self control.

i overindulged myself with you. even though i shouldn't have. and who knows if i wouldn't do it again. so perhaps my time would be better spent learning to love that fool inside me. i have a feeling that she will be around for a while. 

or something. like. that. 

::sigh::

open bars
free dinners
parties every day of the week
[but no boys allowed]
and you can only bring your friends if they're models too.
vodka
wine
cigarettes
and oysters.
all the pills you can swallow
powder served on plates
"hey, do you need a place to lie down because i have 5 guest rooms if you do."
directors
producers
actors
moguls
"hey, can i fuck you and your girl friend, please and thank you."

yeah.

now you're in hollywood.

maybe it's simply a question of logic and mathematics. 

if a=1 and b=a, then b=1. right?

so

if monogamy≠equal love

why, then, should love=monogamy?

what i mean to say (and i'll say again) is:

can you and i have something unconventional... together?

do you follow me?

admittedly, i reached out first. 

and i guess i knew. i knew there was a chance i'd hear from him. 

so then i heard from him. and, being the foolish girl that i am, was reduced to butterflies and an elevated heart rate in about 30 seconds.

i acted coy. when what i really wanted to do was tell him... what i couldn't. or wouldn't, rather.

he asked that i reach out to him whenever i wanted. whenever he crossed my mind. but i wont. i can't. because then he would know that he crosses my mind far more often than i'd like. far more often than he should. far more often...

so, i was coy. and i sat for one and one half hours under the spell of his voice and the memory of his charm.

and of the things i wanted to tell him, those things, i told him not. 

girls, have you seen this film?

it is incredible.

no, really, i mean it.

because a coming-of-age story as such hits home to girls who let themselves be made prey by married thirty-something men. you are young. you are impressionable. you are vulnerable. and in him, lie answers to questions you never before thought to ask. right?

or maybe it is just incredible to me. a girl who's coming-of-age story involved letting herself be made prey by a married thirty-something man. because i was young. and i was impressionable. and i was vulnerable. and in him lay the answers to questions i never before thought to ask and afterwards wished that i hadn't. 

and about carey mulligan's performance? ::stands and applauds::

most poignantly? in jenny we see that it isn't only the vapid and vacuous that are susceptible to the sweet nothings of romance. naïveté cannot be unlearned with books.