poetry in commotion...

i need a better place, or a better way to fall

I'm going to talk about Simone. For those that don't know, Simone is a pretty 24-something blonde anglo-saxon with an outgoing personality and an impeccable dress sense. She always waves and says hi when she sees me, even if it's the 10th time she's seen me that day. I can't talk to her. Like, literally. Ever seen Idle Hands, where Jessica Alba smiles and says hi to the guy, and he sort of looks at her wide eyed and then proceeds to run away? That's me. Everytime she says hi to me, I look at her like an idiot, burble a few unintelligible words, and walk away really fast. It's very, very, disconcerting. Hell, most of the time, it's hard for me to stop talking. Yet with her, I reach deep inside and get nothing. A complete blank. There's a mental picture of a guy representing my brain looking back at me, shrugging his shoulders, as if to say, you're own your own buddy. It's not that I like her, I think. While she is a great person, her interests of clubbing, coffee with friends and shopping and other such facets of the upwardly mobile young professional generally don't tend to synergise with the indie music & film/videogames/bookworm/pub crawler category of person that perhaps I fall into. And while I say she's pretty, she isn't the drop-dead-penis-awakening beauty that might elicit such a reaction from me. I don't look at her and think, I wish she was my girlfriend. Yet, her effect on me has so disturbed me that this past week I've caught myself deliberately avoiding her to avoid the self-esteem destroying awkward burbling that results from my encounters with her. She has me completely baffled.

posted by jaseypoo! @ 8:02 PM