Monday, August 2, 2010

Eulogy or Jared Goes Emo

I guess 3 am in the morning, when I am only on the computer in order to listen to the thumping electronica bass of Sir Kele Okereke and thus block out the noise from my crippling indiscreet housemates fucking is the best time to pen an utterly depressing entry.

I spend a lot of time as a closed book, and I'm not sure if it's because I do not wish to share or because I assume nobody else will be interested in what I have to say. Recently I've been feeling that I don't say enough, however, and so I want to chart the course of my relationship from innocent beginning to equally innocent but bastard-flavoured ending. So, yes, this is a heap of emo shit. How about I open with a poem, just to make it even worse?


Hazel eyes, black hair
Then she dyed it.
She texted me, over there
And I died. Shit



EXCELLENT! Now I just need some black highlights in my hair and to closet myself some more.


Anyway, I think I've referred to a girlfriend ambiguously in this blog once or twice, and in some of my half-written reviews even gave her a nickname - 'Little Miss Paradox', a smug knowing gag of the type I love and devour about the odd state of our relationship at the time of writing. Now, like all good jokes this one turned out to be founded a lot more in truth than I thought - the end was just a resolution of that paradox quite definitely. And I can say there's nothing worse than opening Schroedinger's box and finding that the pussy is nowhere to be found.

She does have an actual name though, and that name is Kayla. We were set up by our best friends who happened to be dating, and such a concerted effort to get two people to fuck I have never seen before. It's as if I was Ric Moranis and she was the love interest in Ghostbusters and our friends were Zuel. (Remember that? I am the key master, I am the gate keeper? No? Cool....)

To their frustration we just talked for five hours, because the amount of common interests we had was really quite amazing considering that we were only introduced because she liked the New Series. (Yes, really. It's not rare enough to justify that kind of thing now..) Though eventually when we were penned into a bed by our friends we did end up making out and, somehow, deciding we were an official couple and swapping contact details.

This is when I became pretty much the worst boyfriend ever, as I only got in touch by email (though to be fair getting her on the phone was fucking impossible) and didn't make a massive amount of effort to see her since she was in Sydney and I didn't have a car at the time. At the same time, so full of myself for actually finding a human female willing to consider sleeping me I was riding high on my confidence and fighting off the urge to drop the term 'my girlfriend' into every second sentence I spoke.

With no exaggeration whatsoever, I can say we probably saw each other 6 times when we were 'going out', (this is over the course of a year or so) something I now question if we even did. And, crucially, we never had sex. Which for those of you following at home, means *I* have never had sex, something I generally refrain from mentioning (but my mate Daniel seems to enjoy bringing up as often as possible in mixed company) but of course if I'm open is a big part of my issues.

The irony is that I had sweated blood to NOT have sex when the oppurtunity presented itself the second time we met. I must have old fashioned ideals, wanting it to be special, and didn't think that it would be so if we were both half paralysed from drinking a river of Jaegerbombs and so restrained myself after the first hurdle and then awkwardly spoon for the night.

Please note... never, ever do this. The Universe will go out of its way to make sure there's no opportunity for sex ever again and it will just fan speculation about your sexuality / genital wellbeing.

The fascinating thing about a relationship is how your intelligence seems to evaporate. If anybody else had been in such a half-arsed effort and told me that they got a break-up email after 10 months or whatever it was I'd have shrugged and said "What did you expect?" I was genuinely surprised. Why? I'd taken her for granted.

A big part of this was probably the fact I was in what I know refer to as my peak physical condition, 79 kilos with a hint of toning on my blinding pale pecs after a year at the gym and I wasn't yet uncovering more of my bald pate every day. From my confidence levels you'd think I'd been voted Sexiest Motherfucker Outside of Hollywood by Time Magazine, furthered when I was hit on by a girl at a party for the first time ever. (A different girl who was interested in dating me for precisely three days. Fucking narrow windows..)

Now, Kayla I would describe as unconventionally beautiful and at the time slightly overweight (but with a thickset build in general, which I seem to find strangely attractive - a chunky girl with a nice face gets my attention quicker than a thin girl with the same face would). If any female reads this by freak chance, I need to explain that guys operate on appearance to a ludicrous degree so I believed there would be little competition, and that she would be happy to have me even if I wasn't always around.

I know. I was a prick.

BUT I saw the error of my ways and knew I should make up for it. I decided to take the 'let's be friends' line at face value, and kept sending her emails as she went through her HSC (oh, didn't mention that did I? According to the legal experts in my TAFE class I belonged in gaol..) to comfort her and asking how things were going, etc.

It's probably a good idea not to do this, either. I mean, it doesn't seem directly responsible for bad shit happening but I don't trust causality right now...

She did find my emails very comforting and so we got back together and made out, thus getting ourselves into our undefined relationship status and my Little Miss Paradox was born. Tragically, I managed to forget she changed her email address so looked like a G-rated wham-bam thank you ma'am type until I looked back through our correspondence and saw the discrepancy. I got back in touch, and we were kind of back, ambiguous as ever.

Again, intelligence seems to vanish utterly. Though we were effectively going on dates, she stood me up, cancelled, and refused to spend any credit on me, along with providing any feeble excuse for me not to see her. It was apparent at the very least she wasn't head over heels, but the part of my brain shouting this information out till its throat was raw was cushioned under a euphoric feeling of 'heee boobies' that clouds my mind when I'm with any female with any suggestion of attraction.

Last Monday was the end. It's a shame because it happened right after watching Inception with her, which is an amazing film. When watching it, I spent 10% of the film thinking of things to write in a blog post about it (no, I'm serious). I spent 100% of the time AFTER leaving the cinema thinking of killing myself, though, which really threw the evening out for me. Simply put, we said a very weird and stilted goodbye. How weird? How stilted? Hmm, okay I guess I am an analogy kind of guy... imagine a ventriloquist dummy and K9 talking about the themes of Waiting for Godot in strict Iambic pentameter.

Forever.

After she left I felt the need to text her and ask her what the deal was. THAT was when I wanted to kill myself, not when I got her response which was pretty straightforward I can tell you. The simple fact I had to ask gave me the answer and I had one of the rare epiphany moments in my life. I'm not sure if I want another one.

Again, she said she wanted to be friends. Maybe my reaction wasn't justified, I don't know. I suspect I may be the arsehole through and through all of this, but I made my intentions apparent over the last couple of months and she did nothing to do so... wait, why didn't I just write 'leading me on'? My argument is that friends are honest with one another, friends give, and friends try to understand one another and she did not do these things so I can't count her as a friend, a case I made in a very long email that I impressed myself with by not using the words 'fuck' and 'cunt' at all in. I then set about making a break as clean as you can without a lightsabre - blocking her email, deleting her facebook and erasing her contact details from my phone.

I think I've made the right decision when I consider the paranoid theories I have about virtually everything - in this case I imagine that she was setting me up for heartbreak while wringing as much money out of me as she could, as a revenge-best-served-cold for being such a crappy boyfriend to her. The thing is... I prefer this alternative. Malice is relatable to me, and it's proactive. The alternative is self-absorption, or cowardice.

Now, I figure when the idea of your ex-girlfriend being a James Bond villain in the way she handles her relationships cheers you up... I'd say it's a good thing to break it off.

This is all extra reasons why my tolerance for my housemates fucking is pretty low, as you'd imagine.

The annoying thing is that in the story of my own failed relationship I don't get to be the good guy. I like to consider myself a good person, but there are times like this when I question it. I think I do take too many people for granted, and that I'm too selfish for my own good at times, and I question msyelf so much to the point that I even wonder if I've ever had depression in the first place or if I'm just a wimp who needed an excuse to not try harder.

Even this blog post, the fact that it exists, marks me as a twat. This is just me venting, writing things I need to write to feel better. It's so selfish. And everytime I do anything selfish I hate myself.

Sorry, 4 am now and my wheels have falled right off. I'm meant to be working in five hours, and I think my funny gland's completely exhausted. But I suppose I should end this rambling post with a word I don't use nearly enough...

Sorry.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Long distance relationships are difficult to maintain, especially if it's your first. I made that mistake myself. Didn't work out well for me either.

The fact that you're view of how the relationship ended is open and balanced doesn't make you a twat. You're aware that both parties had communication troubles, and you're willing to accept responsiblity for that now.
A real bastard would accuse that it was all her fault.
You are a good person for that.

I'm not gonna pretend that it won't hurt. It fucking hurts for a while, but you learn form it.
And it certainly does get better.

I hope that my short mixed up rambling helps somewhat. From what you described reminds me a lot of my first relationship, what and awkward mess that was. Never even saw the girl.
But I just thought I could give you a supporting ear and let you know that it will get better.

-Chirs

Youth of Australia said...

Chirs is right. And ending a post with the Precision S Bomb (the one atomic deterrent John Howard would never sanction) shows you're not a complete and utter arsehole. So you screwed up at love? Welcome to the human race. Population: everyone bar Kyle Sandilans.

So you question whether or not you're the good guy? Would a BAD guy ever do that? A clue: no. At least you're exorcising this headspace into a blog instead of letting it build up until therapists and powerful mood stabilizers are involved.

So, you're above at least ONE blogger in that respect. Plus, you know, she actually said goodbye. BIG step above me, there.

Bad stuff happened and you feel bad. That doesn't make you an Emo. Your walking Aryan cliche status would defeat that for a start. And it doesn't count as wallowing in self pity at 3 in the morning. THAT IS WHAT 3 IN THE MORNING WAS FUCKING INVENTED FOR!!

(Hah, true story, I was once pouring out my troubles at that hour to my best friend who listened in companionable silence. Until I found out he had fallen asleep. Guess what else 3 in the morning was invented for? SLEEP!)

And good for you for posting this. You know how drunk I had to get to be brave enough to blog how depressed I was? A LOT! You manage this bravery stone cold sober.

And you came up with a poem.

But then, I guess a manic depressive on medication with even worse relationships than you probably ISN'T the best person to console you right now. Probably a good thing I didn't post the latest installment of the Big N where Nigel loses his virginity because of 9/11/01...

...

That new Sherlock's cool, though.

Jared "No Nickname" Hansen said...

Thanks guys. Your comments made me feel a lot better. As did a strange improv party last night/this morning where I got cajoled into dancing for around four hours. (It doesn't take much since I actually do enjoy dancing a lot, I just don't do it very often and starting off is strangely difficult) Yeah, it was kinda like that episode of Spaced, only set in a cramped living room with only four people. So that episode of Spaced filmed in the McCoy era.

I had been down again when I got the response to my email which ended in "Fuck you, you sanctimonious arsehole" that made me realise how much I value being a nice person, and that I did want her as a friend despite what I felt in the heat of the moment, so I wrote an anguished apology back. But... yeah, I think I screwed up.

Having a strong way with words and mood swings is a bad combination. You can say shit you don't mean and make it sound so completely sincere. So... I'll just have to be more careful with what I write in the future..

And Ewen, you make me marvel at your ability to comfort me and be completely hilarious at the same time. I hope things pick up for you as well, just as I hope you know that I do.

That September 11 thing sounds hilarious to me. BUT I may be in a minority, much as I was when the "Make a Realistic Wish" went to air..

Youth of Australia said...

Thanks guys. Your comments made me feel a lot better.
*deep sigh of relief*

I had been down again when I got the response to my email which ended in "Fuck you, you sanctimonious arsehole" that made me realise how much I value being a nice person, and that I did want her as a friend despite what I felt in the heat of the moment, so I wrote an anguished apology back. But... yeah, I think I screwed up.
I've screwed up worse - imagine not only that email but getting fired and threatened with legal action the same week your granddad dies. YOU THINK YOU'VE GOT IT BAD?!?

Rick: Yes, actually I DO! What's it to you, piss-face?!

And Ewen, you make me marvel at your ability to comfort me and be completely hilarious at the same time.
Ah, if only both was intentional.

I hope things pick up for you as well, just as I hope you know that I do.
Course.

That September 11 thing sounds hilarious to me.
Phew. I thought it might be overegging it, given he was born the day of the 80s stockmarket crash...

BUT I may be in a minority, much as I was when the "Make a Realistic Wish" went to air..
Ah, well, I admit I didn't like the skit, but not because I was offended, it just seemed to go on for so long when the punchline was achingly obvious. The punchline of course, being used by Servalan several times. Andrew really should have picked up on that...