A Foreshadowing

went through some old streams of consciousness I wrote. This is from October 2016. I always knew.

I haven’t written in a while. A good long while, actually. I need pressure. I need a due date. I need to be better than everyone in the class but will only do so by being assigned. Forced.

There is no assigning of writing in the real world. The due date is death. I don’t want this to be my life. I don’t want to be living in this 22 year old existential crisis at say 47.

The clock is ticking. At 23 the real panic will set in. What am I doing? Who am I becoming or more likely reverting back into.

I leave the office to sit in the big room with the windows and the palms coming out of the wall for no reason. The carpet is meant to look like moss. Which is trendy until you look up close.

My big excuse is I don’t know what I’m doing or what I want to do but the real reason is I’m lazy. “The laziest person ever” according to my girlfriend.

Let’s talk about her a moment.

I guess you could say one of the last great things I wrote was about her. I look at it now and I’m embarrassed. It’s a gushing heart on the page. It is admiration and it is blind. I would twinge flaws into the piece, but I didn’t believe them. I merely did it because I knew I had to take it from a love letter to an essay. I wasn’t all that successful. Let’s be honest, it was only chosen because it was gay. Queer voices — those in the type of writing community I’m submitting know not to reject them. Whether good or not — still more interesting than straight love..right?

If I were to go back to that piece, I’d evicerate it in workshop. Without the dreamy haze over my eyes I can return to what makes my writing mine. A harsh grasp on reality. On the facts.

First things first. Anyone who likes David Foster Wallace is pretentious. End of discussion. Especially when that person is the lesbian equivalent of a stereotypical Guy in your MFA. Second. Manipulation. It’s all manipulation. “It felt like headgames” because it was headgames. You fucking idiot.

“ I was intoxicated on having this girl think I was greater than I was.” True. But don’t I always do that on some level. That’s why I love the beginning so much, the chase. Seeing if I can get them. Loving the way I see myself through their eyes. The distorted version of me. Everything falls apart because I stop doing that. I stop performing. With Liz it always was more amplified though.

She’s a girl. A double edged sword of she get’s it and she absolutely does not. What do I excuse away because she’s a she. A lot. If a boy ever spoke to the way Liz has I would have thrown him away ASAP. So why does that not apply here.

The google slides. I keep coming back to this because it’s foggy on why things have strayed. On how. Has she changed, stopped being captivated by the things I say and write. Have I stopped saying captivating things because I’m no longer working as hard because in theory I already “have her”. Or are we no longer both wasting away at jobs, bored, looking for any medium t express and write and excite one another.

I know I change when it becomes real. And I hate that. I want to stay aloof and clever and nonstop like I do during the chase.

“She’s a cheater,” my friend said as we walked our usual route to my favorite taco place. His tone implied this was a final argument.

“And I’m a home wrecker, an ideal pair.”

“I’m serious. If you were to do this for real, how could you ever trust her?”

I wondered about the threshold she and I would have to cross in order to be “doing this thing for real.” It already felt pretty real, and I liked obstacles. I liked relationships where there were obvious pitfalls or ways they could fail. They felt safe because they had a scapegoat, something to blame, which shirked any introspection on my part, on what might be wrong with me.

This still holds true. I don’t trust her I don’t think. Less that she will cheat on me but I don’t trust that she truly loves me for me and the ways I want to be loved. The thing with liz is she acts like she loves me in spite of all my quirks/flaws/garbageness whatever you want to call it. And I think she thinks thats big of her. “Look how I love you despite being broken” but it is truly terrible. I would rather have her be look this ain’t for me. You’re not for me. I can’t walk away from her but I know I want someone who loves me BECAUSE of aforementioned garbageness.

To not shirk all responsibility I think if I feel that way about Liz. And it’s a tossup.

Ah the vita letter. I’ve maintained that I am vita- despite her calling me wolfe. I was in awe and enamoured. At the time, I thought this was the land of lesbian love. But just like all relatiosnhips, the new spark and sizzle and romance has dispersed. No more letters. No more romance.

Our bodies still grind. They still find eachother, in less new, but still amazing ways. I still want her with a similar intensity.

Some of this is cringeworthy and I can’t tell if its my writing or the subject matter. This annoyance with dudes has remained, if not heightened. How many men have been intrigued by me telling them I have a girlfriend. As a rejection. They take it as an invitation. A challenge. Because yes your dick is that masterful. Beyond that men are blind and even the good ones I realize aren’t that good. But neither is Liz. When it comes to the things that it shouldnt. She doesnt take me seriously or respect me I don’t think. I don’t know.

At the end of this, this critique of this essay you’d think it is an example of someone in love and out of love. But if anything I love her more than I did then. More when I wrote this. This is an unknowing person in lust, and loving the idea and concept of something, of someone. I critique this essay now as someone who loves the actual person. For who she is. For what we are. The question now is, is it the right thing. Is it enough.

So often, when we say we don’t know we do. We know the answer. We just don’t like it. Aren’t willing to admit it. None of this is profound. But for me- it helps to state the obvious.

A pro con list

Where the cons outweigh the pros

But you justify it away

Adds about 1

Million to

The pro side.

Pros Cons

Attraction she hates herself

Sex makes me feel bad about stuff/pressure

Smart know it all

Driven will always put work first

Rich snob obsessed with money

Style pretentious

Gay! Wants to be boy/will be unhappy

Makes me laugh makes me cry alot

Acts like she likes me iN SPITE of my flaws

Mean to me around friends

Advenure In portland

Self centered

Family is scary

Always mean about my family