Following the Trend
In the argument that Lyssa put forth, I did find some stark truths. For example, Lyssa is right about my following trend in a way, trying to be someone that I’m not. Even though I’ve always thought that I would evolve to this state as I’ve always considered myself a mover on the dancefloor, I just think I’m trying too hard for confined novelty.
Tired of the acquaintances I know now, leaving the truth of friendship behind long ago, I search for new friends in new work friends, people at clubs and just about anywhere else where an impression counts. In addition, I’m not thinking about myself and sounding too content in my choices unless I have a second and more favorable opinion. This is why I have become so dependent on Lyssa’s opinion when it comes to clothing.
For one, I yearn for that touch of envy each time she notices some good clothing and resentfully notes “Yeah, it’s great”. Second, I crave assurance from each corner of friendship I have. This dramatic change of clothing did come with its insecurities at the beginning stages, starting with my hair and then running through to my anxiety of everyone thinking I danced like a loony to perception to the clothes I wore and the man I created.
I guess the transition to clubs from fires at Kentlyn was a large one, something that I’m still getting accustomed to. That would probably explain why I keep asking people for their opinions about my appearance, so that assurance would come to hand and make me feel better. I see this not as a transition but as a climb to an apex of misery and now my descending back to my former shadow of charisma.
Soon, I will be proud of being obnoxious and fruity as cocky gets me the girls. The fundamental basis was in 1997 where the incline of transition saw me change to a lazy bum and good for nothing a couple of months before Lyssa and I broke up. Slowly, I began to take the situation into my hands, sifting through the rubble and trying to make sense of what I had.
Gradually, I have realized what I had become and with the beckoning of those words and my club clothes, I began the descent back to the fundamentals of my charismatic cockiness.
What Are You Thinking
Changing the pace of our animosity, at one stage early in our night, I felt it curious when Lyssa went quiet all of a sudden in a lingering passage of our conversation. “What are you thinking” I asked, unsure on the answer I would receive. Lyssa barked back “Don’t worry, it’s my own personal thought” and no matter how much I asked, Lyssa wouldn’t continually tell me not to worry and that I wouldn’t want to know anyway, further filling my intrigue.
Finally, it came to a point in our conversation where Lyssa wanted an answer from me that I wouldn’t reveal and reverting back to my intentions I uttered “Alright, I’ll tell you my story if you agree to tell me what you were thinking before”. For some reason, I knew Lyssa was up to some kind of trick throughout but as she asked “What do you think I was thinking” I couldn’t really put my finger on it.
I figured it would be something stupid as I mentioned “What you were looking at your boobs in the mirror and you thought they looked good”. As Lyssa sarcastically agreed, I then asked “What, are you thinking of Ivan or something”. Again she denied she was even thinking about some other guy and then sternly she exclaimed “I know exactly what you were thinking”. Lyssa was now putting mental pictures in my head of what she thought I was thinking and obviously, I gathered it had something to do with the both of us.
A Sore Subject
“You were thinking how I was going to ask you for sex weren’t you” she asked and to my stuttering voice of surprise, I blew apart her haughty comment by noting I had no such thoughts. The only time something like that would have slipped through my mind was in the seconds that Lyssa noted she knew exactly what I would be thinking but seriously, if Lyssa is on her periods, why would I think such a thought.
I gather that Lyssa believes her truth because I asked her to sleep over on Sunday last weekend. The reason behind this is because I was feeling lonely and rather than sleeping with someone, I just wanted someone to sleep next to me. This was around the stage where Lyssa got chopped and as usually happens when Lyssa barks herself into a corner, she tends to overly play her sarcasm. When I noted that I needed information so that I could place it into my memoirs, Lyssa replied “Oh you’re a legend”.
This bagging came after my scolding reproach to Lyssa’s blatant assumption. Lyssa falls easy pray to agreeing to everything I throw at her with a mild sarcasm. “You love yourself don’t you” I asked, “You think you’re better than me” to which I would universally hear “Yes” pretentiously. It brought repugnance to the tonsils of my very speech when dealing with Lyssa amongst this matter but as brazen her words did speak, I knew she was defending from the bombardment of words that she could not repel but hold athwart with resilience.
Through my angered state, the topic of sex again came up and I declared that I wasn’t even thinking about Lyssa and sex in the same sentence. “I’ve been turned off sex” I explained to Lyssa who remarked, “What, because of me you don’t like sex anymore”. There was some truth in those remarks as I gather my being a loser had some tendencies to be right back in my breaking up days but neither of them needed to be exploited.
As reported, sex to me now is like a cliché and to the likes of Imad and others, I now don’t regard sex as a big thing. Lyssa took my being turned off sex personally and hung up the phone on me angrily. Minutes later Lyssa sought to call me back and apologize as she so gallantly does each time. Speaking some more on the sex aspect, I thought to myself a couple of miens about sex that bid me not to ever bring up those lustful and wrong thoughts when Lyssa is around.
Thoughts I Keep to Myself
When I think of sex, I don’t want to think of the restrictions that Lyssa will place upon the night. For the last couple of times Lyssa and I had sex I was so ungratified, worse off than when I was yearning for that sex and today, I don’t want to relive those memories. In our last encounters, sex with Lyssa was like a lottery where you could wish for that oral sex or any position apart from missionary but you knew the odds of variety were a million to one against your favor.
These haunting memories of my last few sexual encounters with Lyssa have matured me well beyond the novelty of sex and those desires. Nowadays, I would rather sleep next to a women as I wouldn’t face the negative aspects of sex like facing rejection after asking for certainties. These woes have cemented my viewpoint on Lyssa’s sincerity. When it comes down to the punch, Lyssa’s assurance has no credibility and you can see that trend in her broken promises.
Excluding the whole aspect of money, if Lyssa was to assure me that we would have great sex tomorrow and she would give me oral sex, I would be right to be pessimistic. I don’t believe Lyssa in most of her promises these days and have made sexuality history now with my disbelief and absconded propensities. That is why I feel like broken glass when talking to Lyssa on the phone as opposed to chatting to anyone else.
When our conversation starts we’re always pleasant to each other but I can’t help to think that I revert back to the hopelessness I portrayed a month or two before we stopped going out with each other and thenceforth. Our second conversation lasted a couple of minutes and soon enough, Lyssa was off the phone in a fit of rage again. Nevertheless, I think we could have ended the conversation on a decent note but then again, why would I be thinking that she doesn’t want to call me.
Midnight on the First
With that being the conversation ended on Wednesday night with Lyssa, the conclusion to my Wednesday comes after much recapitulation. Now as the time has just ticked past midnight and with my always being able to find historical significance in a date which would normally be without consequence, I have such a weight. Just having passed over midnight and as the date is now officially August 1st 1999, I see a moment in history and a chance to grasp it thoroughly.
With Romeo and Juliet in my possession after my weighty whim, I now have the will to watch it on this destined day. For what would be two and a half years celebrating my first meeting Jewell, what better way to credit the notability and passion of such a momentous occasion. Save for my being alone and without Jewell by my side, to her memory and ours, I will watch Romeo and Juliet tonight.
A movie where like those star-crossed lovers were meant to be but never were. That is a notable way to end such a month of ascertained uncertainty and to begin a new month with replenished memories, what a blessing upon natures uplifting wonders it will bring. Fate is fate and faith is destiny, let me now watch and learn from the best in me…
Diary Of A Mad Chaos is a daily diary written from March 1996 until today, of which individual books and book series have been created, namely “The Lost Years” an exploration of young, entwined love, the “Wubao In China (猎艳奇缘)” book series which provides an extensive comparative analysis of the cultural differences between Eastern and Western societies, and the book titled “Foreigner (华人)” an exploration of race relations in Australia.
