It’s always me. I am always the one in hot pursuit. The one who is head over heals. At least that’s how it feels.
I think I’m being obvious, maybe not. Maybe not at first, but at some point I always say something, point blank. But it’s always me. Why?
The old adage that I’m just “more mature” and they don’t know how to be straightforward may have passed a while ago, but I refuse to believe they still haven’t caught up.
Others say that I’m more mature than everyone. But going around in circles like this feels like a throwback to middle school. The way this feels in the antithesis of mature.
I know that I am likeable. I know I am attractive. So what on earth am I missing?
Am I to subtle? Am I too direct? Am I too intimidating? Am I too shy?
For the love of god can someone please give me the crash course on how to interact with boys because I clearly missed something in the 7th grade.
I think what I missed was the crash course in accepting the social norms. I didn’t receive a copy of the manual in how to play the “dating game”. I think I missed the memo on not getting invested to easily and instead “playing it cool”. No one bothered to inform me that you have to flirt and can’t just say how you feel because who on earth would do such a crazy thing as being straightforward.
What is wrong with society? If I went up to a guy and know and said “Hi I’m Freddy and I like you” I would be labeled a hundred different things, including but not limited to crazy and bitch.
There is a boy I like and I wrote him a letter that I could never send:
Preface: This is decidedly one of those “fuck it” moments. I do not intend to incite confusion, distress, or frustration, though all may ensue. I am trying to not be inconsiderate in doing so, but for my own sake, I had to. (Also, I know the format is a little unconventional, but it’s kinda my thing.)
For the record, I like you.
I’m at least 50% sure this is news to you. I can never tell. In a way, I hope it is, because the alternate is that you already knew and either didn’t care, or are just as awkward, oblivious, and unsure as I am. Either way, now it’s on the table. What remains to be seen is how you will respond.
As per usual, having it out helps, but only eases my muddled mind about half way, because of the still looming uncertainty. That’s the real killer, not knowing. The anticipation is literally killing me.
Obviously I have a preference, but a decisive answer, even a “no” is better than this wishy-washy nonsense.
I am utterly convinced that the full on “crazy brain” that is occurring is just due to the uncertainty. If I could just get a goddamn answer I would be like “cool, ok, awesome.” And then return to being the normal, rational, responsible person I once knew. All I want is to be upfront and get the same in return, how simple.
I would be happy, but not tripping on some psycho-chemical flood that’s occurring in my brain and making me do and think and feel inexplicable things. (Thanks biology).
But yeah, I like you. I don’t know when saying so became so taboo and such a damn big deal and we had to be all back-handed about things, but fuck it, screw the patriarchy! I. Like. You.
And why shouldn’t I like you. You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re nice. You’re talented. And you’re pretty damn cute.
And guess what, so am I. (Gasp! A woman with confidence, what can I say, but I’m not apologizing.) Funny how that works. In my humble opinion we would be an excellent pair. We would balance each other and play off each other and have a damn good time. What more could you ask for?
Nothing, that’s right. So why am I crazy for pointing this out? Because society said so. And that’s a load of bullshit. So frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it any more.
So there it is. My grand gesture. My middle finger to the world. My confession. I like you.
Now you’re up.
But I can’t send that, even though I want to, because this is America and we don’t make any sense.