Its amazing how one man can ruin your entire night. Especially amazing that he can do it unwillingly and while not even being there!

I’m talking of course of Glen whom I met on Saturday night, and quite unexpectedly fell for. I couldn’t stop thinking of him morning, noon, and night. He was there when I smoked on my balcony staring out at the city, he was there when I slept, when I ate, when I napped, and watched television. He was sitting beside me when I drove my car.

I desperately wanted to have an incredibly fun night Saturday night. We went to the Eagle. He wasn’t there, I didn’t expect him to be, but you never know. We went to Boyztown. He wasn’t there. I didn’t expect him to be, but you never know.

I drank myself silly, but unfortunately into depression. I tried to shake this stupidity from my mind, but it was there for good. I tried to get turned on by strangers, or flirt with ones I know. I tried to dance, to talk, to live life to it most fun. I just sat there wishing he was there.

I’m colouring in a sketch painting with my own imagination. I’m using wild colours and frantic, powerful strokes. The painting is beautiful, but I forgot that its supposed to represent reality. I’m making paths in a forest that I’ve never entered. I’ve met this man vaguely, and I’m assuming what his soul is all about. I’ve invented his personality and assumed its perfect. I’ve created a future with a man that I know less about than a stranger in a crowd.

Worst of all. I’m doing this with a man that I have no chance with. One that I assume has no attraction to me. I’m torturing myself, because I can’t get an abstract painting of reality out of my sensitive mind.

I can’t help it though. I pride myself on my independence, and the fact that I’ve become someone I like. I’ve developed to the point that having a lover is not a huge priority in life. I remember when it was absolutely everything. Like the time I sat on Feithy Weithy’s couch and thought my life was over because the man I loved with all my devotion wanted nothing to do with me. I remember being comforted by her just by being near her and knowing she’d care. Now, I just expect to be rejected. I can’t wait to be not rejected, but I don’t expect it. I’m honestly ok with that.

There’s that little twang of pain like heartburn that begins with the thought of being loved. It begins in your mind and painfully stretches througout your body. It hurts like every pain you’ve ever felt crunched into a five second bundle. Its every pain, because you feel as though a lover would give you a hug every now and then and absolve you of any hardship you’ve ever had to go through. Its the pain of a void that can’t be filled at this moment. Its the horror that it may never be filled.

When I feel this twinge of pain, I grasp onto the nearest possible relief. My imagination, an OH BOY do I ever have a healthy one. I create lovers out of attractive men I’ve seen. I invent lifetimes out of three second meetings. I fill the painful void with this cheap drug of irrationality. An addiction to fantasy, because reality is abolutely lonely.

I allow one single man to ruin an evening, because I create the “myth of us”, and begin to fantasize so strongly that I forget its just a fantasy. When reality hits, its enough to spiral me into depression. The more I’m depressed, the more I feel the pains of desperation. The more my soul reaches out to the universe and returns with nothing but loneliness. The void gets bigger and the fantasies more dangerous.