The loneliest mutant.
I'm beginning to come to the realization that I'm not like other people, so maybe my expectations should be readjusted. In all likelihood, there will not be a happy ending for me. I'm not ever going to meet someone great who thinks I am equally great. My life will be a solitary one, so I'd better get some serious hobbies or I will go mad.
It could be a good thing, this whole life-of-solitude. Maybe if I throw myself into self-improvement - going back to school, learning how to write fiction, getting a "real" journalism job, becoming more organized, setting tangible goals - I'll be too busy to care that I feel like a mystified little alien half the time, and I'll become a huge success.
Maybe I'm a bizarre mutant, sans superpowers.
OK, I know that there are no happy endings, that the storybook romance isn't real, there are no princes riding around looking for young ladies to save. I KNOW THAT. Don't fucking patronize me with that shit. It doesn't make me feel better, because I know things that you don't know. I know that I am different from 99.999999 percent of humanity, and I'm different in a way that isn't good or interesting or attractive. I don't know what it is; it's apparently some sort of deformity that I can't detect, but everyone else can, and it sickens them. It's frightening, but I should really learn to accept it.
It could be a good thing, this whole life-of-solitude. Maybe if I throw myself into self-improvement - going back to school, learning how to write fiction, getting a "real" journalism job, becoming more organized, setting tangible goals - I'll be too busy to care that I feel like a mystified little alien half the time, and I'll become a huge success.
Maybe I'm a bizarre mutant, sans superpowers.
OK, I know that there are no happy endings, that the storybook romance isn't real, there are no princes riding around looking for young ladies to save. I KNOW THAT. Don't fucking patronize me with that shit. It doesn't make me feel better, because I know things that you don't know. I know that I am different from 99.999999 percent of humanity, and I'm different in a way that isn't good or interesting or attractive. I don't know what it is; it's apparently some sort of deformity that I can't detect, but everyone else can, and it sickens them. It's frightening, but I should really learn to accept it.
posted by Kathleen | 3:00 pm
Being different from 99.99999% of humanity, by its own definition, *is* good and interesting and attractive.
(and I'm not trying to patronise you!)
(well, maybe a little)
Oh, I've had 'good' relationships. I've had bad ones. No one's ever wanted me as more than a sex toy, however.
It never seems like that at first. In fact, once or twice I've really thought a boy liked me and that things were great. I've even loved one, but he didn't want me.
I've been proven wrong at every turn. I'm just two tits and a warm little crotch. Meat.
I've tried to go down the winding homo highway, but it just doesn't work for me. I like boys. Boys like my boobs. The end.
(Apparently girls like them, too. Last night I got hit on by a couple. I was almost tempted, for just a moment, out of sheer loneliness. But then I realized that I can't keep doing this to myself. I must embrace my new solitary life. It's just not going to happen for me.)
WOO!
(o)(o)
Nicely handled :)
But seriously...
get a life JiB. even if she did shouw you her tits, you wouldn't know what to do with them.
Gee, what sort of dusty toxin-laced construction material got inserted perpedicular to your massive arse today?
Or is this just the standard trolling I get from you every time I open my mouth?
Bring on that japery!