Cockblocker...

I just want to scream and wail until all my lonely rage and frustration and repressed energy fill up this bar. I want the doors to burst open and I want everyone to know what I’m going through. I want her to know what she does to me every time she so much as walks by. I want them to see how much I want to be loved.

Instead, I order a beer and sit down at the bar, as if everything is okay. I joke around with my buddies and smile at her and pretend there isn’t this unbelievable gulf of experience and sexiness between us. When she speaks I feel like I’m standing in sunshine, and I feel my forehead starts sweating.

When I see some cool alpha male she’s undoubtedly fucked many times before walk in, I realize the jig is already up before it’s begun, and that I could leave now or in six hours and still have the same one hundred percent chance of ending up alone and stoned again tonight.

Every night I watch guys who can say what they need to in stupid jokes and insipid small talk, and I envy them. No matter how hard I try, the only thing I can convey to women is my love, and never my lust, so I end up with women friends who torture me as much as they comfort me. Either that or my signals are received and ignored. Which is worse I don’t know, and it really doesn’t matter, because either way you end up clutching yourself late in the night trying to find a warm feeling somewhere. The heart is like the brain, and if you don’t use it, you lose it. Then, when you finally do care about something, the overwhelming feeling can shatter you and your cold, unused heart.

So I sit there drinking and sipping and thinking and kidding and not fucking connecting. I simmer and die a little bit more with each passing second as Friday becomes Saturday, and I am thankful when someone comes up to discuss something I could care less about, because it distracts me from what I do care about but can do nothing about. I’m thankful for last call as well, because it means I can stop not trying to find her and tell her how I feel. It means I can go back home and sleep some more. Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell her.

Once I’m home and away from her presence I see how ridiculous it would be for someone you’d never even taken on a date to approach you and spill their heart and guts all over you and expect anything but an awkward rebuff. I want to cry but won’t afford myself even that much true emotion. I see how stupid I am for getting so carried away over someone I hardly know. I see how much I want to cry over the absurdity of my own emotions and I see myself getting stoned until everything else is just as ridiculous. It’s all a big deal to me, and when I’m high, it’s all meaningless. Even she is meaningless. Deep inside though, I know it is me who is meaningless and without direction. I'm the one who lacks aggression and confidence.

I’m my own cockblock.