No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2002-12-03 - 2:00 p.m.

Consolation Prize

I didn't sleep last night. I didn't sleep until the sun was already up.

Me and Cap'n did some talking. Then I spent all night explaining things to the ceiling over my bed. The Cap'n is a better listener.

Here are some of the things that bubbled to the top.

I am not a fucking consolation prize. I am not a safety net. I will not be anybody's Plan B. I made it clear to her how I feel. We went out on one real date. Three days later she got back together with FuckFace. That's pretty clear, isn't it?

I am not her first choice. If I'm not the first choice, I don't think I want to be chosen.

I like her too much for my own good. I'm stupid like that. All this is tough talk. I'm a big talker, Betty Crocker. When it comes down to it, I'd probably be the consolation prize, and find some way to justify it. Because I do like her. Did I mention I'm stupid like that?

What I'm trying to do right now it convince myself that there's no chance ever with her again. I need to believe that it's irrevocably over (before it actually began). Because I've been known to be stupid.

Again, I say Damnit!

Hosted by my beloved DLand
Sign My Guestbook!�� powered by SignMyGuestbook.com