In my little world that is composed of the intricacies of my brain and its functions, I admit to writing this particular blog just so I can use the title. Which means that maybe, just maybe, the creation of this blog has nothing to do with the title. Maybe. The irony of the title is striking because the name for the blog came to me as I prepared to be accompanied by a lovely young woman on a date. It's even better that today is a week later, and I find myself alone, listening to the best of Nat King Cole. Apart from the piece of heart that gets ripped out of me every now and then, offered up to the songs he sings, I am honestly more content than I have been in awhile.
There's nothing quite as relaxing after a long week as just being at peace with oneself. That's not to say that a little company of the right variety would bad. . .
The dating ritual in Utah is one of the most absurd creatures I've ever encountered. First off, we're told to be meek, submissive, and the like. Although I know that I'm saying something completely against what we're actually taught, but how is it that guys are supposed to be meek, humble, submissive, and at the same time bold and courageous, unwilling to take no as a true answer? It's a great incongruity that at the same time as men are expected to be submissive, they're also expected to take the role and make other's submit to their will. Okay, I exaggerate, seeing as taking someone on a date isn't really making them submit to your will (emphasis added), but you see my point. How is that one such as I, who spent my entire life learning how to be obedient and take orders, should now be the one ordering others around? I feel like a penguin in the tropics, and trust me, it gets a little warm here.
I can hear all of the ladies who read this blog (not to say that only girls read my blog, but I'm talking to the specific group now) heaving a big sigh and saying "you're such a boy!" It might be that I can hear that since I've had that said to me not once, but twice in the last two days. While I am extremely proud of my sex and am glad that others are not left in doubt as to which gender I actually belong, I can't help but wonder at why they said that. If they were intending to be condoning, it didn't really work. I personally find that a validation of my masculinity is an abstract way of complimenting me, and so the "you're such a boy" spoken in derision becomes for me a compliment. Perhaps that's another reason why those of the female gender are so ready to term me as a young man of the extreme variety. I mean, if I told a lady that she was a girl, she would probably whip out some sarcastic remark like "you think?"
All of that rambling actually had a point, though. If you put together the fact that I am a male (I know, for some of you there is still some question. Let me lay your doubts to rest. I'll use a comforter, I promise) together with the idea that males are taught conflicting themes, it becomes much easier to see how I excuse myself to myself so often. For instance, let's say that I like someone in particular. See, I am humble enough to recognize that I like said person, that she's amazing and that nothing would make me happier than to say that I like her, that she's beautiful and amazing and a whole lot of nearly perfect wrapped up together in one stunning person. There's the humility, recognizing the truth. Now, this is were the weird part of my brain comes in. I feel bad, honestly, when it is the case that I like someone but lack the courage to tell the person so. Sometimes it turns out to be a good thing (I've been saved many a sure rejection because of that exact lack), but all in all it's an uncomfortable feeling. My mind has some amazing defense mechanisms. Let me show you one of them: when it is the case that my self imposed silence is driving me crazy, my saves the day by saying "yes, but she might not like you, and that's putting her in a bad position of you trying to impose your will on her." Oh ho, there is a lack of submissiveness! Ah, well, we can't be having that, now can we. Better that we suffer in silence, because that would not impose anything on anyone.
Do you know how stupid I sound saying that? I think this exchange happens mostly unconsciously, because if I take the time to actually realise what I'm saying to myself, I realise how very silly I'm being, and I either get over my fear and go say something, or I go home and play the piano, who always seems to understand what I'm feeling. At other times I've tried listening to music, but at those times I am consistently amazed that everything in my entire stinkin' collection of music has something to do with love, and all of my patience is required not to physically beat my CD player. Since the times when I turn to music is normally during the transit home, the one time I succumbed to my frustration I had a near death experience with the oncoming traffic. I've since learned to turn off my CD player when I'm upset.
Who knows what I'm really trying to say by all of this. Wait, I know what I'm trying to say. Just because no one else knows what I'm trying to say doesn't mean I'm crazy. Or does it? Speaking of which, any of you that have read my poem, what did you think it meant? Everyone I've talked to so far has no idea what I meant to say. Of course, sometimes understand is hard to come by with only two people. Poetry is of that amazing quality as to allow for personal translation of practically anything, so it might have lots of meanings, but I had only one in writing it. I'd like to find out, though, if anyone can guess what I meant to say. If you can, I might just give you a cookie. You know, the tracking kind.
Okay, that was pretty bad.
I hope you all enjoy your respective Saturday night. Though men might be boys and girls might be ladies, there are people out there you love you, probably, even if they never say anything. The weird thing is that the people who like you most are the least likely to say so. Or at least that's the case for me. Just be happy in the thought.
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