I used to think that when I got rejected it was so horrible, tragic, even. Not that it really happens anyway, but it used to, a few times. I felt pathetic. I felt like I was the loser and the object of my affection was the winner. Like: my adoration makes me weak (or something?) and his indifference to me made him strong, victorious, the winner. I felt like this the first few times it happened.
But I dunno. I've spent a lot of time being angry at myself and feeling pathetic and unlovable. And I've also spent a lot of time really resenting the people who don't like me back. Being angry at them. But you know what? It's not pathetic and it's not being weak.
I gathered up the tattered wisps I call 'my courage', having found again them at the bottom of one or another glass of gin, and I told you that I like you. I admitted that I think you're great. That's brave and true and there is not one bad thing you can say about that. Even if I'm not your type, and even if you have a boyfriend, or you think I'm totally gross because your friend told you how much of a bitch I am, or you're trying to scope this other guy right behind me and you don't want it to look like we're together, or you think I act like a bottom but pretend to be a top, or you are just too through with Miss Thing over here. I don't care. Someone telling you they like you is a nice-slash-good-slash great thing, and there are a million ways to tell it. I didn't do anything wrong, and if you react like I did I'm pretty sure it's because you feel guilty. It's not really tragic, it's just unfortunate. I want to sit you down, now, years after the fact, now that we don't even know each other anymore and tell you What Really Went Down (in case you didn't know): I was totally in love with you, and you were such a dick to me.
But for the present situation. I do not need this shit, man. Sex with him could have been perfect, when I write about it in my zine it always is.
But really, trying to have sex with him was just like trying so hard to like him enough. It was exactly like smearing peanut butter into an electrical socket. Pointless, stupid and dangerous.
Good thing it's only Saturday.