Paradoxical Five O'Clock Moaning

Music may be the only thing to ever truly make sense to me. Honestly I don't care for much else. It may just be the consistency of both new and old music on a daily basis. It may be because most of my other passions have fallen seemingly out the window. I don't watch hours and hours of TV anymore. I don't remember the last movie I watched. The kicker here is that I don't exactly fill my time with another activity. I've acquired more books and a skateboard, yet I've started working on neither of those things because as you're likely already aware, I spend my time thinking about doing all of these things, much to the point where I'm just standing in a room with no idea what to do, but filled with ideas of things I'd like to do, of which I never do. My own friends don't make sense to me anymore. Even distant friends that I do a good job of dealing with or usually get along with are people that I don't want to be around anymore. I don't want to be around anyone. It's a six of one, half a dozen of the other kind of situation. In most circumstances I'm doing something because someone else wanted to do that thing. In the other set of circumstances I'm doing something that was agreed upon, the other person allows me time to speak or do what I would like and then I over-capitalize on it by focusing entirely on myself (which I can't help but do since I rarely get to) and not giving them a true opportunity to do or talk about what the other person wants. Basically I'm unhappy with myself, people I like, and people I don't like. I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of saying how tired I am of pretending.

I haven't written anything down in a good while so let me bring you up to date on what is going on here. Since school ended good things have been happening to me and the ladies. An issue that I will forever misunderstand. I've since asked a girl out after two sentences of interaction, which was stupid easy and unquestionably awesome. I made out with a girl I went to middle and high school with while she was good and drunk, which was incredibly weird and equally awesome. Mere weeks later, actually last Wednesday, I pleasured, diddled, or fingered a closer friend of mine at 5:00 in the morning (so technically Thursday) so spontaneously that one minute we were sleeping in the same bed, another spooning, another I was caressing her stomach, another I was massaging her nipples, another my finger was deep inside her, another the bed was so wet from her writhing vagina that she has to sleep in a different part of the bed, and another ten hours later, I had blister on my finger :). Now. This awe-inspiring, and arguably too detailed, Thursday morning and preceding weeks in mind: I'm very confused. I'm really not that good looking. I feel like I have my moments, but those are few and far between. In fact, a lot of those moments take place in sexual situations, probably because I get off on getting the girl in question off. But aside from that, I don't really have much going for me. I'm just around. Which makes even less sense because there is no fucking way a girl woke up to a light, seemingly disembodied caress and allowed that caress to explore her nethers based simply on proximity. If that was the truth, there's certainly no hope for the rest of my happiness. But that definitely isn't fucking true because when said caress started to stray variously, yet systematically, north and south, she wiggled and slumped into it. She reached around and put her hand on my side while thrusting her backside seamlessly into my embrace like it was born there. If that shit was based on proximity, this post would have to be about how there is no point in living. So you know what this fucking means, nobody? It means that she was into the idea of me doing what I was doing. This is where the paradox comes in. I can't seem to imagine a universe where I am who I am and girls find me attractive enough to want me in any capacity. This is where the former paragraph comes into play. I don't really have a purpose around any group or person any more. There are only a few people who I truly get along with and those people are my favorite people in the world. The unfortunate thing is that I don't know those people anymore. They either go to different schools than I do or live in a different hemisphere than I do. This may be hard for some to read, but the people I know now aren't really the people I see spending the rest of my time with. Most of us aren't on the same page. We still talk about the same silly, remarkably entertaining topics but we exist on different levels of consciousness (obviously, since we're not some singular, amorphous blob). In the mind of humans everywhere, the problems they have will always take precedence over the problems of others. Some people take on the problems of others and make them their own, therefore no precedence is actually shifted. In the friendships that I currently participate in the balance isn't so much a balance as it is pointless and borderline condescending. I take on the problems of others and try to be helpful with feedback that will hopefully benefit them (an act I rarely mind) and they ignore any problems I have and if they attempt to actually hear what I'm saying they usually try to give me advice, patronize me, and/or tell me what they would do, which helps no one but their ego and self-assurance (an act I will forever mind). There are a couple people I know who actually hear me when I'm talking. There is one person who actually follows up to see if I'm actually okay and doesn't usually blindly accept me saying that I'm fine, whatever that word even means. I believe she is the only person who reads this anymore. Which is good because that means a conversation may actually stem from this. Whether it'll help or not is another matter entirely because talking about yourself and all of your problems is one thing. Actually pursuing and trying to hack away at those problems in the knee caps with hatchets, is clearly another thing. So how the writhing, moaning friend, ex-classmate, and random HyVee Chinese food clerk found me attractive enough and interesting enough to allow me to do varying degrees of things to them: finger, make out, and date briefly, respectively, understandably doesn't make any sense to me. The thing all of these events have in common is the striking background of decision-making based on a whim. Maybe all of this really is simply a proximity thing. A girl thinking highly enough of my looks or personality (of which they know little) to refute the proximity theory almost seems like an impossibility at this point.

I like to think that I'll be okay but it seems to me a distinct possibility that I'm not going to be okay. Here are some things I'm certain of: My universal irrelevance; the tight grip of power music holds over my happiness; I need to leave every person I know and love and live my life elsewhere. Peace and enjoy. Love, music, and frequently, drugs. Goodbye.