My Life As A Recovering Non Intellectual

A girl I've been afforded the honor of introducing myself to on approximately four different occasions sits uncomfortably two seats away from me, on the other side of arguably my closest friend that I no longer trust, but one I still feel a reluctant comradery with. I'm pretty sure she wants to sleep with him, but she's hard to read. Her eyes dart all around. Other girls, at least the ones with better intentions, have made this mistake before. I guess in a modern world with consenting adults, there's really little wrong with such a scenario. We find ourselves on polar ends of a madness, and it seems as though only my end affords enough interest to entertain the idea of actually wanting the girl to stick around the next morning. The shorter the years seem in retrospect, the more blurred the lines become. Bad person, good person. Natural, unnatural. This doesn't really keep me from still feeling sorry for them. Good intentions, bad intentions... hopefully we've all grown up into realizing nobody wants to be the villain in their own story. I'd just as easily promote good sex before I would the good guy... perhaps another Aesthetic vs Texture topic...

The course of this madness, we've discussed, was as worthwhile as any other fixation, and yet still, probably only headed toward an unhealthy climax. Which is also relevant. I'm never quite sure when I'm in the throws of said climax, which both at once helps me and forces me into living morning to morning, night to night, moment to moment, alarm to alarm, record to record, song to song, pot to pot, dish to dish, glance to glance, blush to blush, touch to touch. So on. So forth.

I explain to her how I've recently acquired a fascination in placing myself in less compatible environments. Paradoxical juxtaposition. Especially concerning more pensive removed moods. I don't often see people visiting pubs, clubs, parties and the like without an angle. I'd like to see more of this. And in more peculiar forms. This eventually results in my discussing the absurdities in considering yourself a side character in other persons' stories, rather than the protagonist in your own. She has a nice laugh. She doesn't initially come off as the type of girl who's had enough interest from the opposite sex to be treating them with such callous indifference and preemptive cynical antics. Clever enough to see the wrong ones coming from a mile away, and with enough lack of foresight to fall just short of realizing how obvious an unattractive character trait this social defense mechanism is to the right ones. Too wrapped up in her theatrics to realize that this one doesn't want to take her to bed, and really does just want to talk this time. We all three of us spend a few taking apart and putting back together various themes I bring up. The flaws in being overly objective, a disposition that seems currently to be the ideal societal demeanor to socially condition yourself and others to. The alternative, of course, being purely subjective, ignoring third party perspective entirely. I don't know. Something tells me I haven't sat in the appropriate classrooms yet, so for now I'll leave that up to all you intellectuals to sort out.

I decide I'm done for now, finish my second beer, say my goodbyes and dance out the door.

Stay tuned for more updates on my path out of nowhere, including improved mopping technique, insomnia, telling a co worker my wife died in a car accident, living in a veritable Neverland, and much, much more.