Late Night/ Early Morning Musings

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I got bored and started thinking about writing my thoughts down and this was the result.

Submitted: June 09, 2013

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Submitted: June 09, 2013

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6.9.2013

One Saturday night, or should I say Sunday morning?  Well, it was about 2 o’clock in the morning.  I was in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, in no rush to get back to my room.  I’d like to think I was relaxing. On the toilet. Anyways, as I was sitting there, thinking about nothing in particular, I started to think of things about myself that I liked.  There were plenty of characteristics of mine – personality wise -- that I was proud of.  Then I started to think of all the annoying habits I have, and they eventually outweighed the good. 

As I stared down at my feet, seeing the scar my cat’s claws left behind and the strange dimple right under my pinky toe, I started to wonder if there was anything physical about myself that I was actually proud of.  I started to skim my eyes apprehensively over my body, carefully spotting every blemish and imperfection along the way. Finally I came across a tiny freckle on my upper forearm, on the side that would face forward if I rested my palms against my side.  It was not a perfect circle; more like the abstract shape of a bread crumb you’d see on your kitchen table.  I starred at it and starred at it until I convinced myself it resembled a heart.  I believe something deep in my subconscious decided that would be a cute story to tell a cute boy in the future.  Something we could talk about on our wedding night while reminiscing about the early stages of our relationship.

I always imagine myself ending up with my dream boy.  A nice cute boy, tall and lanky with dark hair and light eyes, with a deep yet soft voice and a way of being arousingly aggressive however comfortingly gentle, exciting though mellow, funny but mature, smart without a superior complex, talkative yet shares antisocial tendencies with me.  My Perfect Contradiction Boy.No matter how much I hate my body or dread the day someone desires to see it, only because clothing covers up the most embarrassing parts of me, I always see myself in his arms in the next 2-6 years.  I think if being intimate was done with your undergarments on, my life would be less stressful.

I guess the idea of My Perfect Contradiction Boy is a bit naïve.  It almost seems as if his existence would be a paradox and set the universe slightly off balance, leaving me and him at the wobbly center of it.

 

12.16.2013

It seems like a redundant revelation, but I’ve started to better understand how unpredictable the future really is.  I’m sure I’ll never get to the point where I’ve mastered the concept unknown, but every bit of knowledge I gain is not taken for granted.  I read all these books and they never fail to have few good and steamy make out scenes or meaningful touches or serious eye contact, and I always think to myself “There is no way I’ll ever be the one to initiate the kiss.”  And I feel so sure of myself, but how sure can I really be?  I’ve never been trusted into the hands of undeniable passion! How am I supposed to predict how I’d react in a situation.  I’ve come to the conclusion that in order to even attempt a prediction of how you, or certainly anybody else, would react in any given situation.  For example, my friend is currently in a a freshman English class I took last year.  I’m a shy person and prefer to direct the spot light anywhere but me and she shares this particular trait.  Last year, towards the end of our Romeo & Juliet unit we were given a particularly unsettling assignment—monologues.  I did my fair share of panicky hyperventilating and trying to convince me that I could somehow weasel my way out, all to no avail.  When it had finally sunk in, the impending repetition of history, I let myself revel in the pain of my dear, dear friend.  Due to our similar personalities, I could easily imagine the bouts of anxiety she would endure leading up to presentation day.  I could feel the sweaty palms and uncontrollable shaking she’d have to muscle on through the day of presentations. Public speaking.  A scenario I can predict behavior in.  But, romance? Not a chance.  There is no way I could successfully write a kissing scene in any kind of story without it seeming incredibly bubble gum, sticky sweet fairy tale like or completely stealing the skills of another writer.  All I have to go on are the fantasies in my head, what I’ve read in books and the occasional story from a lovesick friend.  So, when I tell myself my first kiss has not chance of playing out in a way where I make the moves, there’s really no way of telling.  I might be carried away with his intoxicating smell of the irresistible pillow like quality his lips appear to have.  Maybe I’ll feel as if someone is pushing me towards him, when in reality I’m the one leaning in, lips puckering of their own volition.

See?  Doesn’t that sound ridiculous?  I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. 


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