Dear Mom,
Howdy. Thought Id' take time out of my busy schedule of loafing around the apartment, listening to Led Zeppelin and watching mindless, muted Music Television and going out of my head.
Oh, the Zoloft? Not bad. At half strength, it's about like looking forward to a cup of coffee or a Twinkie. But the agitation I am feeling today, I believe we have spoken of before at great length.
I have my heart hung out on my sleeve for a certain young lady (Genny) who is entertaining, for the moment at least, consideration of dating me. Oh, boy.
I am at once happy and excited, nervous, fearful, stupid and overly emotionally charged. Music becomes painful to listen to, but I enjoy the pain. A kind of melancholy bliss. I am plainly in hormonal overproduction over this girl. If I could just keep from blowing it and scaring her off. Like all the others...
Other things have been going on in my life, mainly, the daily work routine, Uncle Steve's semi-weekly dinner/TV evenings, Brian, Mona and Gene -- fishing and yapping buddies -- my music and vehicle recreation (I now have a car, a van and a motorcycle -- Steve's old 550) all take up time not spent brooding over my search tor the ideal woman.
Oh, and I spend a fair amount of time worrying about the future, or my lack of one. I could be a more positive person, I guess.
Sometimes, when the moon is right, and I feel in love and don't have a care in the world, I'll feel like dancing, or singing up a storm, to my neighbor's alarm. I live in the now. When "now" is happening or cool in the pleasurable sense, I am perfectly capable of sitting back and grasping the moment, not dwelling on fears or insecurities.
It's just that most moments are not like that. They are a ceaseless grind of boring sameness. Lameness! I need a challenge, something to live for. A new cause or religion to fight for. You know, an existential experience to cement who I am. Like right now, I'm still liquid concrete being tumbled about in a cement mixer.
Will I be the oldest living person to be confused about what I want to do in life? Will frustration over failures cause depression to get the better of me? Find out in our next exciting episode...
Well, Mom, gotta go for now. C-Ya.
Well, I'm back from dropping Genny off at work. As if that were not a rewarding enough experience, she made me a big sack lunch consisting of 2 cheeseburgers, chips, cookies, banana, apple slices, a muffin and a soda. I am blessed.
I bought her a tiny vase with flowers and constructed a magazine font ransom note type letter that said, "Dear Genny, I love you. Hoody." She thought it was ever so cute and kissed me. I am so glad she had this reaction instead of a whole range of uncomfortable responses I had been sort of bracing myself for.
I really do love this girl, though, Mom. She's just young and confused, and I'm older and less mature, but she's everything I could dream about. We share the same taste in music and popular culture and have similarly repressed religious backgrounds and liberal politics. She loves to cook, and I love to eat. She's beautiful, naturally, and the fact that she desires to spend time with me really just blows my mind.
We've been good friends and almost lovers, then in limbo while she was deciding what she wanted. I just kind of hung around and kept the door open anytime she'd need a friend or someone to give her a hand with something. Anyway, I would be extremely happy to land such a "catch" as this one, and you would just have to meet her.
Well, enough raving. I'll be seeing her again shortly, and I must prepare to suck the marrow out of these moments, I can tell you. S'long!
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.