then this summer, after a lifetime of aspirations, i found myself in armpit-tsburgh, the most romantic city on earth. yes, if there was one place one could rediscover the true meaning of love, it would have to be in the iron city. enter my last great tragic secret love, a fiery dudette fond of increasingly nonsensical babble, phil collins songs, and master lists of junk email titles. on top of that, for a radical difference from most of my tsl's, she actually apparently could tolerate my company and would actively invite me places and initiate conversation with me, or at least the sequence of beeping sounds and phantom of the opera lyrics that lately qualifies as 'conversation' for me. so, since she was a girl that talked to me, obligatorily, i had to fall's tragically secretly in love.
and things would have stoically marched on until the end of time that way, had i not gone on a fateful night of carousing with her roommate, who confided in me that apparently my dumb tsl had broken the rules and vaguely reciprocated some sort of emotion in my general direction (though in all fairness she could have been aiming it at the walls or light fixtures). i'd speculated that when two dudes spend 18 hours a day together and flirt continuously, hey, maybe there's something there, but i never would have thought seriously about that possibility had it not been for someone else stating that and recapitulating the views of a couple dozen other people on the drama. but then there was the fact of her having a dudefriend, and her playing this bizarre game of alternately flirting with me and then talking about her dudefriend.
so then the stakes seemed to get higher because after cancelling once, i was obliged to go on a date with someone else. the date was of course confusing and awkward, and probably a story onto itself. several months ago, following the unholy automobile accident of my relationship with tg-2, i tricked her into talking to me over the phone by calling her from canada. among other things, i found out that she was going on dates with dudes she'd met off of the intraweb. well, two can play at that game, i said to myself. after a couple of dates with dudes from the internet, i decided i'd leave that to her and try dating dudettes from the intraweb. so sheerly out of revenge i made a profile on the onion personals, merrily embracing my lameness and elevating it to unreal levels.
so one of the dudettes that i'd 'met' on the onion personals and i had been conducting a month long letter writing war, and just as things seemed to be coming to a head with my tsl the dudette from the intraweb proposed a meeting. so i said whatever, but then realized that i couldn't go on it and cheat on my tsl, a fact which i apparently mentioned to tsl. anywho, since she spent most of that evening talking to her dudefriend or whatever, i in turn was passive aggressive enough to go on a date the next day with onion dudette.
it turned out that she was kind of as big an alcoholic as i was (apparently the only thing standing between me and total alcoholism is not any kind of conviction or self-control, but just the inflated price of alcohol in most other states) and as charming as she seemed to be in her emails-es. after four wine-soaked hours, she proposed that we go to her place, where there was allegedly more wine (and indeed there was). so then we sat there for another four hours drinking. by 4 in the morning, i realized i would have to do something, anything, since i had class at 9. it was clearly a bad idea, but the only thing i could think of was trying to smooch and tickle her so she would let me get to sleep sometime. thankfully the ruse succeeded and a little over another two hours later, i found myself happily napping for two hours before class. she was so in a hurry to dispose of me that she packed me up in her car and drove me home (well, to tsl's place).
i wish i had any way of reading into the secret machinations of people around me. they're always so fiendishly clever that you can make neither heads nor tails of their intentions. thus all the heartache with my tsl: does it mean something when you spend 18 hours a day with someone and find every available opportunity to touch them? does that mean you hate them, or that you're finding a lot of ticks in their fur? likewise, when i got raped by a ballerina a few months ago, it was because i sincerely took as purely innocent her invitation to sleep in her bed, since she did say it was 'very large,' which a reasonable person takes to mean that it should comfortably accomodate two sleepers without any hanky-panky or brutal rape going on. likewise, in the episode at hand, i had no idea whether i should read anything into being invited over for wine after midnight by someone i was on a date with. and i probably shouldn't have, but goodness help me i was so tired.
anywho, after extricating myself from that hairy situation, i found out from roommate that when i was out that night tsl was irately bumping around the room and stayed up til 3, around the time i was resolving to whore myself out for the ability to sleep. thus perhaps my passive aggressive blow had succeeded in slightly disconcerting my tsl. but i had payed dearly for that offensive in feelings of guilt and betrayal, and there remained the question of what would happen if for some reason the person i raped against their will invited me on another date or something. i had to say something, just to know whether or not she felt anything so i'd be able to avoid any future dates.
the lord works in mysterious but perfect ways, so yesterday he cooked up some elaborate scheme by which i would have an excuse and indeed be forced to stop sleeping on the floor of my tsl. essentially moving in with someone you're tragically secretly in love with but have never touched is the most reasonable course of action one can take, so i set about doing that a couple of weeks ago. now if i wanted to ask my tsl about our tsl, i needed to have an excuse to quit sleeping on her floor, but who would have thought some slightly scorched paper found on the windowsill would do the trick? anywho, with last night being the last night of my increasingly awkward squatting, i gave up and in violation of my own tsl principles decided to say something. but we were already kind of pushing the tsl ethical code and stuff, since we spent most of the last couple of days laying on the bed together, standing uncomfortably close to each other, and hiding our heads in one another's shoulders.
but she happily denied ever feeling anything for me and apologized for leading me on. i was groggy today as the awkwardness of yesterday's dual events settled down on me like a cloud of tropical moths, but it didn't take me long to find and revel in the considerable golden lining of these clouds (cue the dramatic yet inspirational music, 'coming to america' perhaps?):
As unbearably suffocating as the very institution of tragic secret love is, it is positively necessary for my epistemic world view to maintain itself. firstly there's the practical fact that just like celestial bodies tsl's serve to demarcate time and heavily influence all of my choices and undertakings. much more vital is the service they carry out in defining and validating my identity. let's say that say in this last case my tsl had actually reciprocated my feelings. now even though this outpouring of emotion would never lead to anything since we would never have been able to be in a relationsip, i would be left in an awesome dilemna: i would be nothing more than an ordinary real boy, capable of building up some affectionate connection with another human being through mutual acts of kindness and similar interests and blah blah blah and i don't evidently know what else. as is, it turns out that weeks of this pseudo-relationship building were an absolute farce, and i have demonstrated for the millionth time that the only reason someone would show me any attention is through gross negligence or because they are on alcohol/ecstasy/insert powerful mind-altering substance. so once again, in face of incredible obstacles, i prove myself to be a miserable caricature of a human being who never was loved, is not loved, and never will be loved by anyone. this is a particularly ironic offshoot of the entire drama since my tsl continually castigated me for mentioning how despicable i was and how no one could ever love me, which i do in the same fashion as one speaks about the weather, and i would get flustered that someone would dare question the pillars upon which my reality is founded without some good reason. but she apparently never foresaw the fact that she would so masterfully validate these very same axioms.
i win again! and that's why i get to sleep on my own tonight again after such a long long time