I feel the need to say the word ‘pleasure’. I want to meet someone who will say “pleased to meet you”, to which I shall reply “oh, but the pleasure is mine”. But oh no, people don’t say “pleased to meet you” anymore. They say “nice to meet you”, or “good to meet you”. Which is really quite depressing. Because I want to be able to act like a creepy mistress from the past. Or, you know, a chivalrous gentleman, but creepy mistress just sounds so much more fun! In my head it comes complete with hand-kissing and a limo and looking like Jessica Rabbit. Which doesn’t particularly make sense. But even so…
On another ‘Damn This Backwards Evolution of Speech!’ note, that blasted dictionary has decided to add more stupid ‘words’ to its word list. According to Oxford Dictionary, I may now use the ‘words’ tweeps, totes, ridic, lolz, Wikipedian, ripped, vajazzle, and mwahahaha, in an essay if I so please. Even though despite the fact that all of them are some form of slang, they’ve also spelt ‘muahahaha’ incorrectly. It’s totally a U, Oxford. Oh, no, hang on. According to your failed list, it’s totes a U.
I am like a child. The other day, I tried to write a poem the other day about all the things that are wrong with me. Of course, the poem failed, but I still had all the topics planned out for each verse. And the most normal one was the fact that I’m like a child. I fail at all these adult things. Picking up on stuff, knowing people, falling for people, figuring things out for myself… Ugh.
The guy I would like to flirt with me gives mixed signals. Very mixed signals. And then there’s this other guy who seems like he is flirting with me. And I’m just thinking to myself “please stop flirting with me, because I’d rather it came from the other guy”. But I keep talking, because I don’t want to seem rude. And so then I get paranoid that he thinks that my ordinary talking is me flirting with him. And then I get paranoid that the way he sees me is the same way I see the other guy. And then I feel sad.
As well as the childlike verse, there were also five other planned verses. One of them was about how I never seem to get sad about anything other than shallow problems like men. One of them was about how I’m so damned socially awkward and shy. Another one was partly to do with me being insecure, but also related to occasional conflicting feelings. Another related to my mind and love. The last, and weirdest verse, is a secret I shall never tell.
This thing used to be objective. I used to write whatever the hell I wanted on here without caring about anyone. Because, to be honest, I didn’t have anything to care about. I didn’t have to worry about anyone getting hurt or upset. Except perhaps random sensitive people who get offended by my beliefs. But now… I’m actually caring too much about people to say what I want to. This isn’t right. That’s not me.
Actually, I haven’t been myself in general lately. I know why that is. Hang on, no I don’t. I know what I’m talking about, but I don’t know why it is. I am just plain confused. This is different to before. I don’t know why, but it is. And it’s horrible.
But from what people have said… It shouldn’t happen. From most of my own vibes, it won’t happen. But from occasional random happenings, it could happen. And everything conflicts with everything! It’s times like this when telepathy would really come in handy…