You know how sometimes something troubles you, but you can't quite put your finger on it? Sometimes it bubbles to the surface and you get it in its full glory.
This morning that happened to me in the shower. I was thinking back on all of the relationships that I've had (and yes, it does tie in with camel pants and smooth Jell-O), and I realized that in every single one of those relationships, I was never the top choice. I was always the convenient choice, the "you'll do until someone better comes along" guy. Mister Right Now.
And you know what? I'm not happy with that. I don't want to be Old Faithful. I don't want to be the Nice Guy. I don't want to be the comfortable guy that you hang around with and tell about how sexually frustrated you are because men all suck, but you really can only think of me as a friend.
I deserve to be loved. Unconditionally. I deserve to be the top pick. I deserve to be the number one choice. And if I'm not, then don't fuck with me.
Don't get me wrong. I may love you as a friend. I may flirt like mad. I may get playful and frisky. But I'm keeping my heart this time, at least what's left of it.
I am a good person. I have a lot of very fine qualities. I'm bloody brilliant, I'm funny, I'm talented, I'm capable, I'm handy. I'm sensitive and caring and loving. I'm gentle. I'm sensual. I'm compassionate. I'm honorable. I'm a freaking Boy Scout.
But I'm not sexy.
Moms love me. And well they should. I think in general, women want much different qualities for their daughters than they wanted for themselves. They want safety and security for their children, while what they wanted was a little danger.
Yeah, I'm dangerous. As dangerous as a stuffed squirrel.
(FEAR MY NUTS!!)
I've been listening to German industrial/goth music lately. There's some really interesting stuff out there (thank you Internet Radio) that is bent so far beyond the mainstream that it makes CorpoRadio seem like Ken and Barbie. I've even turned the TV off for days at a time.
And for the first time since I've been here, my air conditioner didn't kick in all day.
The time of the Great Sleep approaches. The lovely college girls will soon be bundling themselves in Polar Fleece and pudging up for the winter. Harvests will be brought in, the pigs led to slaughter, and once again the sleepiest town in Amerika will be visited by Morpheus and drift even further into darkness.
Slumber, my pretty. All is well.