Maintaining an undefined status when labeling a misaligned early 20's romantic/sexual arrangement seems suitable for those that are immeasurably sophisticated or for those that view this (or any) characteristic as something to be achieved. Living in a city where the average male displays designer eye-wear with transition lenses atop a spray tanned face with a carefully coordinated collared shirt of an astronomical thread count and where females often make it abundantly clear (and sometimes as a mother-daughter duo) that our society is tinkering on the edge of distinctly pornographic norms, I feel misplaced. Although I laughably consider myself somewhat of a minimalist (my Ipod does not make phone calls or surf the web and I ride a bicycle), I feel a magnet-like pull toward full blown complexity. I need food and water. Shelter's nice.
However, my recent discovery is that I'm primitively drawn toward consistent affection, likely stemming from an unshakable fear of spending my mid-twenties to early-thirties kept up in some one bedroom apartment with a wildly filial relationship with two small dogs, an exhausted television, and no warm body to lay against while reading a beat generation novel, complain to about the petty dilemmas that come and go in a day, have sex with, or eat Thai food with while watching Saturday Night Live reruns, which I guess nullifies the "Live" portion of the title. It's still the name of the fucking show. Please. Relax.
With that said, my irregular form of communicating in a serious manner keeps this new need (food, water, shelter, affection, lemonade) unstable and, often times, erratic. I'm not sure why I frantically throw up a wall between how I am perceived by others (outside of the wall) and how I actually feel (behind the wall). I don't like to have all of my cards laying out across the table, leaving me in a position to be (justly) scrutinized and critiqued about my decisions/behavior. It must partially be the aforementioned and partially be that whenever I'm dropped into a meaningful and important conversation/social setting, I envision all parties involved as supporting roles (including myself) in "Days of Our Lives" with corny lines displayed on the cue cards, leaving me to refuse to actually cite them by filling in the dead air with goofy sarcasm played on the magnitude of the should-be situation. It doesn't mean that I'm emotionless. Heller Keller had emotions. They've done studies.
