It's easy to be real when you don't care. You don't care about hurting the other person's feelings, because you know this will never, and should never, work. It's easy to be real when you've already been disillusioned and you're no longer imagining the could'ves, should'ves, would'ves. It's just simpler.
It's also easy to brew coffee once you've accustomed to it. Once you've acculturated to the practice of roasting and brewing and grinding, using an espresso machine, steaming various kinds of milk (even soymilk! The implications), using various syrups for flavoring, and you know what you're doing, it's easier. You've numbed to the emotions you used to feel at first; feelings like fear and discomfort.
These recent revelations lead me to believe that emotional involvement is never really good. It's illogical and unfounded and childish. It leads one (or me, at least) to make rash decisions that I make simply for the sake of doing whatever the fuck I want. And when the object of my lust is something of recent occurrence? Especially so.
The truth of the matter is, I blind myself when I want something too much. So, I choose to occupy myself with a constant need to detach--disinvolve--myself with the things I want, thus creating a certain unnatural tension wherever I go. Whomever I touch. What does that mean?
Someone called me a waterbed. A boy I was involved with for a year or so addressed me as a waterbed on a written love letter five years ago. "If I try to jump into you, it hurts. If I wait for you to make room for me and sort of crawl into you, you'll make room, you'll give me comfort." I thought about that last June when I sat in my room in Atlanta with a box of old letters and gifts. What prompted teenaged me to give boys that impression? What was I so scared of, that I felt it necessary to push people away until I knew they would take their time?
Truth is, (and I hate saying that. You'll find that the people who say "honestly" are the most dishonest people) I fear haste. That could stem from an inner, deeper fear of rashness. The tumult of emotions, the irrational surges of anger, jealousy, hate, love, sorrow, gratitude, yearning, envy, greed, love.
"You make me think too much"
Guichanaso.
