Sunday, September 18, 2005

Withdrawal Rant: Yes, Micaela, you've become Don Jose

I just came back from a date with Elmeraler. Now I'm crying with a block of cheese in my mouth. The date went well, I just don't like him. He might be half a decade older than M. Biologique, but if maturity was measured by popcorn, he'd still be on a supermarket shelf. (And if intellect, a weapon, he'd be a quick wank.) He doesn't excite me, surprise me; good-looking, but bland. He adores me, pursues me, trapped me for next Tuesday. So here I am, bawling and bawling until my sockets squeak. Math Judas says it's the one week hump. That I'll feel better once I get over this temporary abyss of loneliness. I'm utterly disappointed (with myself) and confused (with everything else). How can I be remotely attractive to anybody right now? And then there's the question of why I'm doing this to myself. Why do I let smelly men on the metro remind me of that damned hippie? Why does every white guy in dirty brown pants send a shock of insanity down my spine? M. Biologique isn't the same person from last winter. He's an evasive, shallow, indecisive subject. Yet he still looks like the man who gave me his mittens after an impromptu 4 a.m. snowball scrap. And he's the same chap whose limbs coiled around me under the covers asking me about my favourite stories. But I changed too: impatient and sarcastic, needy and irritable. I started to resent him. Mistreated and ignored, I thought I must've been overreacting. But realized his ambiguity had also become mine, forcing me to accept a partial relationship with someone too hardened to be an acceptable friend. So he had deep-seeded issues, we all do. I idealized him because pity was not politically correct. So now, I avoid him or, at least, try to. "Time apart will be good for you," I tell myself. But in truth, I just want to send him a big, fat void to chew on. Let him think again before calling me out of convenience, chide me out of chagrin. Intimacy issues? Ha! That's between you and your clinically abusive/sexual/overbearing mother (talk to the Freud). Yet, I miss him terribly. But being with him just makes me miserable afterwards. (Simply dripping in guilt and mental fecal matter.) He used to be my outlet into which fragmented feelings freely flowed. But now my passions are painstakingly pissed upon. I am overwhelmed by melancholy; rationale is deriding me.

Anyway. Back to Elmeraler. I use him to make M. Biologique jealous during social gatherings, but if M. Bioligique isn't around, what the hell's the point? I'm just not ready to interview replacements yet.

*Note: Playing parlor games will only break hearts. I should know, I just ate a block of cheese. How much lower can you get? Oh wait, here comes that extra large bowl of yoghourt. Ah, sub-zero sadness ...

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