The problem with getting to really know people -- rather than just working extra hard to maintain your fantasies of what they're like -- is that you actually get to know them.
I've mentioned this guy that I've met recently -- I've decided to call him E.B. Well, the more I get to know E.B., the more I like him. He's kind, he's sweet, he's smart, and -- the universe decided to taunt me by having me arrive at his apartment just as he was finishing dressing -- makes my mouth dry up when he's shirtless. No, really. I had to do my best not to stare slack-jawed.
Alas, my nascent efforts at not gilding the lilly have also made me realize he's got an angry streak (which fuels his sense of humor), he's stubborn, he has what I think are painfully ill-informed views on abortion, he's rabidly non-political in an age when I can't conceive of anyone being so, and he has extraordinarily questionable taste in musical theater. No, really. Phantom of the Opera?
So it's both good and bad, this seeing clearly thing. Well, it's both good and good, but a little painful.
Here's another bit of progress I'm making in my continual campaign to become a less self-obsessed person:
I've actually managed to survive the realization that E.B. likes me, but just "as a friend." Usually, the prospect of staying friends with people who've rejected me romantically is too painful to deal with, so I end up dropping them out of my life. I'm like a spoiled little kid at a candy counter who can't have the Reece's Pieces, so stomps off without buying any candy at all.
Actually, that metaphor sucked, but you know what I mean.
I'm okay with the fact that E.B. just wants to be friends. I mean, it would be utter foolishness to not want to have such a great guy as a friend, right? Having another sweet, warm-hearted person in my life can only be good.
I continue to flower. Go me.
Hmmm... perhaps being so gung ho about not being self-obsessed is a little self-obsessive.
I've mentioned this guy that I've met recently -- I've decided to call him E.B. Well, the more I get to know E.B., the more I like him. He's kind, he's sweet, he's smart, and -- the universe decided to taunt me by having me arrive at his apartment just as he was finishing dressing -- makes my mouth dry up when he's shirtless. No, really. I had to do my best not to stare slack-jawed.
Alas, my nascent efforts at not gilding the lilly have also made me realize he's got an angry streak (which fuels his sense of humor), he's stubborn, he has what I think are painfully ill-informed views on abortion, he's rabidly non-political in an age when I can't conceive of anyone being so, and he has extraordinarily questionable taste in musical theater. No, really. Phantom of the Opera?
So it's both good and bad, this seeing clearly thing. Well, it's both good and good, but a little painful.
Here's another bit of progress I'm making in my continual campaign to become a less self-obsessed person:
I've actually managed to survive the realization that E.B. likes me, but just "as a friend." Usually, the prospect of staying friends with people who've rejected me romantically is too painful to deal with, so I end up dropping them out of my life. I'm like a spoiled little kid at a candy counter who can't have the Reece's Pieces, so stomps off without buying any candy at all.
Actually, that metaphor sucked, but you know what I mean.
I'm okay with the fact that E.B. just wants to be friends. I mean, it would be utter foolishness to not want to have such a great guy as a friend, right? Having another sweet, warm-hearted person in my life can only be good.
I continue to flower. Go me.
Hmmm... perhaps being so gung ho about not being self-obsessed is a little self-obsessive.
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