Undone

2003-10-17 – 12:35 a.m.

You ever have those days where nothing PARTICULARLY sucks, but the day in a whole puts you into a funk. Like the fact that the perfect guy (personality wise) sits before, em and i just long for him to kiss me, or to show some interest, Or SOMETHING– anything– and then there’s my religion. I’ve said it once, i’ll say it again– i love my religion. I honest to God do…. it’s just a bit of a downer sometimes to say “He’s the perfect guy, but he isn’t LDS.” Friendjamin says I shouldn’t limit myself to a specific religion. But if there’s one thing i’ve learned in watching relationships crumble and wither and die– and such– that big things like religion, or kids, or money, usually causes the shit to hit the fan. (I’m sure there’s other big things, but i’m just not thinking of it right now.) Oi, think about it. THe first time I was in a serious relationship, he was the right religion, right height, right color of eyes, loved kids, but he was stingy with money. Sure, at the appropriate times, being stingy is okay. I mean, he was STINGY. as in he never paid for ONE date the entire time we were together.

Lets see, who was there after that… Oh. J-bob. We weren’t really ever together, but he’s the one who pulled me out of my sullen mess over the first one, so while it wasn’t an active relationship in the romantic, “we’re SO dating’ sense, it’s more of a — i liked him. A LOT. (Ahem, i still do.) And he was the right height, and he had this smile, and the sense of humor, and these dimples, and it just made you mushy. ‘Scuse me, it made ME mushy. Still does. I keep getting caught on the fact that he isn’t LDS. In fact, he’s very rebellious against the whole damn religion thing. He drinks, he likes pr0n, and i’m horribly in love with him. It’s like some sort of horrid thing where we torture (or I torture, whatever) myself by returning to see him, and i wish i could be that kind of person for him…. but that’s not a line i’m willing to cross. I’m just not.

Then, there’s Monkey. In the beginning, we hated each other, faught like friggin’ cats and dogs. But I always secretly liked him. He is LDS, but doesn’t go. He’s the right height, right smile, right words, …. wrong me. I guess. I can’t honestly place what was wrong with us. If there was an us. I’m a little hazy about that. But we’re still friends today. Mostly. I know i bash him about a bit in here. I really shouldn’t, and i feel pretty shitty about it afterwards. He’s an awesome guy, he does nifty things. He says the right things, at all the right times… *falls off her chair* how is it not supposed to make me feel bad that i was the wrong one this time? *raises her eyebrow*

In any case, i’m a disaster waiting to happen. Don’t give up on the things you want in a person, in a significant other. You’ll find it– and they’ll find you. And you’ll be happy. I just hope– that it’s sooner rather than later with me.

Red is coming up tomorrow (huzzah!!!) I have to take her about to meet new Co-workers, and J-Bob…. and basically i want to parade her like a friggin’ trophy. “Hi, My Name is Meryl, and this is my best friend Red, she goes to a real college. None of this Community college crap. Oh, No. She has roommates, and a dorm, and they cook, and she meets new people. *nods* Not like me, who stays at home, and shuns the touch of people.”

Speaking of touching people (smirks easily) dont’ get the wrong idea, this is clean. I thought i might explain why i hate it. WHy I wish it was acceptable to wear gloves 24/7 in society today– because my skin (like my sense of smell) is super sensitive. I hate people brushing up against me, or moving past me too close, and if you’ve ever been to the mall with me at Christmas time, you know what i mean– or if you’ve been to a Debate meet with me. I don’t go check postings. I stay back, I wait for the crowd to disperse– and if i HAVE to be in a large crowd, My arms instinctively lock so my fisted hands are underneath my chin, and my elbows are locked at an acute angle. I’m the type of a girl who reads something into touching. It’s an experience, I guess no one else has taken the time to notice. You can tell what a person does for a job by their hands. My hands are always so smooth and cold. People say “Your hands are so smooth, how did you get them like that?” I respond casually by saying “By doing no work.” And it’s the truth. I have upperclass princess hands. *blinks* I’m straying from the topic. My catchphrase back in the day (when I broke up with my first boyfriend) was “Don’t touch me unless it means something to you.” I’m not a fan of insincere hugs, fish handshakes, groping of any sort, or kissing random people…. Oh. And No Holding my hands. Don’t hold my hands. Don’t touch them. Not my fingers, not the palm, not the wrist. NO! *shakes her head* To me, holding hands is a bond. A promise. Not a forever promise, but a promise that says, I’ll be there. I’ll do what i can to help you through things. and we can do it together.

The idea of holding hands for the sheer thrill of it, or because ‘it’s what i’m supposed to do on a date…’ is shit. Complete, unquestioned, CRAP. You really like a person, and you want to hold their hand, you sure as hell better mean it.

Maybe i’m old fashioned, and a prude, and a freak– but if you felt everything that i felt when someone touches me, you’d want it to mean something too.

Derringer Meryl [Waiting for something– More] Out