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Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Butterflies

I really wish I could convince myself that the feeling in my gut had something to do with my diet. I'd possibly prefer it be sickness over what I know it is. I like a girl, and there are several life conditions that make the situation... less than optimal, I guess? Sometimes I feel like she likes me too, and is as subtle about it as a parade with a fireworks display. Other times, it seems like, at best, my being around doesn't bother her. Unwarranted optimism has been the lurker in the shadows for me forever. I've often said to the kids I babysat "You know better!". I feel like I should listen to my own words. I'm not lonely. I enjoy my alone time. I'm productive on my own. But dammit, I get really happy when she's around. I've been happy anyway, but this is the kind of happy that eats away all the bad feelings, and will never be sated. If emotions traveled in herds, this kind of happy would thin a person's emotions into the strongest, most solid phalanx of a herd imaginable. Do I know better? Something like that would leave tremendous, slow-healing wounds if it ended. I'm pretty learned about that. I'm not known for my ability to bounce back from that kind of thing. I'm running pretty efficiently at the moment, and every time I trust someone with my heart, I put my entire life machine at risk. What am I supposed to do? Be a rock n' roll monk? Am I playing it too safe if I let this one go? If I don't? Does it really matter, as long as I live and learn? I only get to live out my own story, I suppose. What would the audience like? What would make my story a bestseller? I'm going to drown these butterflies.

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