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Description
So this weird stage of romantic neutrality is rather unnerving. Flitting between fancies has never quite been my style; contrary to some belief, I have a rather monogamous mind. I fixate on one prospect at a time, normally, but currently I’ve had the attraction span of a gnat. I suppose it’s good for me at my age not to be so singleminded as to not recognize other opportunities, but I can’t help but feel a little uprooted. Ever since I had noticed any kind of attraction, it’s been one person at a time. Ever since the Turning Down, I’ve had a reasonably attention-deficit attitude towards attraction.

An hour alone with one person will tip my scales a bit, only to be changed by a look, a single action. You’d think maturing would lead to a more focused approach, but growing up in a short span of time has reduced my former centralized vigor. Curious. Hearing romantic songs now conjures a group of faces, as opposed to the same one. Another recent change is the feeling of recognition. My stomach used to drop to about the level of my belt buckle anytime I caught a glimpse or heard his voice. That’s worn off, finally. The weird possessive feeling is pretty much nonexistent now, too.

It’s become obvious to me that we’ve both grown up, grown differently. It’s sad that we can’t have real conversations anymore, but we’ve developed separately. We don’t have anything in common anymore. It’s strange to still be writing about him, but I pity the loss of friendship there. I regret not enjoying it more as I had it, only being dissatisfied at the direction, or lack thereof, we were taking. We used to be close, but I rippled the pool by a proposition and it never quite returned to its former state. So the relationship changed anyway. I can’t believe I’m still thinking about it, that I still wonder. I miss his friendship. I miss him.

I try to live life without regrets. I can’t seem to get rid of that one. Why did I let it get so complicated?

I’m still moving on, though. I know there are plenty other guys to turn to, and I’ve been looking. However, I seem to have some of the worst timing on the planet with the menfolk. I’m not really dwelling on it, but it’s an observation that’s repeated itself several times since being “on the market”. I do keep the market stigma rather than “on the hunt”, because that seems to be a little too aggressive. I keep getting images involving traps and snares and luring unsuspecting prey into vulnerability in my head anytime I refer to it that way. An Amazon, I’m not. But I have been trying to be more assertive lately. I’ve even sacrificed some of my pride in the process. My foot has found a summer home in my mouth. I’m not being self-pitiable; I’m being honest for my own sake.

I alternate between invincibility and humiliation, all caused by my own hand. I misinterpret mixed messages and broadcast quite a few of them myself, mostly because the broadcast station doesn’t entirely know what it’s doing. I feel terrible for the poor souls left in the wake of my befuddled advances. Best not to dwell on mistakes, right?

I’m going to be entirely truthful when I say I have no wisp of a clue about what I’m doing. I seriously doubt that there’s a manual for these years in a person’s life, but there’s still hope. I’d go to surprising lengths to get a copy. It’d be me along with a ferocious crowd of snarling confused teenagers. What a sight to behold. How to Deal with the Kobayashi Maru of Adolescence.

But I digress. These scattered thoughts are evidence of a catharsis in serious need of release. Some reflection is necessary every now and then. Life will keep moving with or without me, and I might as well get on board and see what happens. My missteps have been a learning experience in both my cautious and bold exploits of adolescence.

Description
So this weird stage of romantic neutrality is rather unnerving. Flitting between fancies has never quite been my style; contrary to some belief, I have a rather monogamous mind. I fixate on one prospect at a time, normally, but currently I’ve had the attraction span of a gnat. I suppose it’s good for me at my age not to be so singleminded as to not recognize other opportunities, but I can’t help but feel a little uprooted. Ever since I had noticed any kind of attraction, it’s been one person at a time. Ever since the Turning Down, I’ve had a reasonably attention-deficit attitude towards attraction.

An hour alone with one person will tip my scales a bit, only to be changed by a look, a single action. You’d think maturing would lead to a more focused approach, but growing up in a short span of time has reduced my former centralized vigor. Curious. Hearing romantic songs now conjures a group of faces, as opposed to the same one. Another recent change is the feeling of recognition. My stomach used to drop to about the level of my belt buckle anytime I caught a glimpse or heard his voice. That’s worn off, finally. The weird possessive feeling is pretty much nonexistent now, too.

It’s become obvious to me that we’ve both grown up, grown differently. It’s sad that we can’t have real conversations anymore, but we’ve developed separately. We don’t have anything in common anymore. It’s strange to still be writing about him, but I pity the loss of friendship there. I regret not enjoying it more as I had it, only being dissatisfied at the direction, or lack thereof, we were taking. We used to be close, but I rippled the pool by a proposition and it never quite returned to its former state. So the relationship changed anyway. I can’t believe I’m still thinking about it, that I still wonder. I miss his friendship. I miss him.

I try to live life without regrets. I can’t seem to get rid of that one. Why did I let it get so complicated?

I’m still moving on, though. I know there are plenty other guys to turn to, and I’ve been looking. However, I seem to have some of the worst timing on the planet with the menfolk. I’m not really dwelling on it, but it’s an observation that’s repeated itself several times since being “on the market”. I do keep the market stigma rather than “on the hunt”, because that seems to be a little too aggressive. I keep getting images involving traps and snares and luring unsuspecting prey into vulnerability in my head anytime I refer to it that way. An Amazon, I’m not. But I have been trying to be more assertive lately. I’ve even sacrificed some of my pride in the process. My foot has found a summer home in my mouth. I’m not being self-pitiable; I’m being honest for my own sake.

I alternate between invincibility and humiliation, all caused by my own hand. I misinterpret mixed messages and broadcast quite a few of them myself, mostly because the broadcast station doesn’t entirely know what it’s doing. I feel terrible for the poor souls left in the wake of my befuddled advances. Best not to dwell on mistakes, right?

I’m going to be entirely truthful when I say I have no wisp of a clue about what I’m doing. I seriously doubt that there’s a manual for these years in a person’s life, but there’s still hope. I’d go to surprising lengths to get a copy. It’d be me along with a ferocious crowd of snarling confused teenagers. What a sight to behold. How to Deal with the Kobayashi Maru of Adolescence.

But I digress. These scattered thoughts are evidence of a catharsis in serious need of release. Some reflection is necessary every now and then. Life will keep moving with or without me, and I might as well get on board and see what happens. My missteps have been a learning experience in both my cautious and bold exploits of adolescence.