Here are the
results of the request competition, in reverse order. In third
place with 0 votes is how I got the postman to deliver biscuits
to me for free. In second place, also with no votes, but
chronologically more advanced is my plan for gun control and
prime-time death, as told to TV's Michael Moore, or one of his
minions. And the winner is, with 1 vote, my relationship history
(sans "the one about the person who YOU consider to be
responsible for your current mental condition" ...is it
really that obvious? If so, why don't you read between the lines
and tell me yourself). There'll be no jokes so I can plausibly
deny at a later stage that I was joking. There'll be nothing but
honesty, so you will think I am telling nothing but lies. There
sure as fuck won't be the whole truth as that would be. [sentence
ends].
My first love (not
my First Love) was contaminated with recurring dreams of Nazis
swarming down hills to surround my home. They were the Luftwaffe,
but instead of flying in planes they just stuck their arms out to
the side and made engine noises. The sheer terror of the dream
woke me up every night as the building was surrounded. Who knows
what could have happened if I had managed to sleep through it,
who knows what terror was yet to come, who knows where I might
have ended up, both in the dream and in reality. The love ended
at the moment she said that she didn't want to go out with me. It
was fun while it lasted, but it was never really anything more
than a youthful infatuation with someone who deigned to talk to
me.
Next up came too
many years of unhealthy, unrequited love. Somewhat luckily my
mind was on other things so I wasn't able to fully plumb the
depths of pathos, but a few unmentionable anecdotes spring to my
mind and bring a mix of wry smiling and horror at how low I
nearly sunk. Much to my delight, this turned to sheer delight
when, briefly, too briefly, it mutated into requited love. Ahh
sweet happiness. It was. Wow. So nice, so good, so descriptive.
Too many happy stories, too many things I could tell you. The
zenith was her smiling at me that day; I hate to resort to the
world of cleesh, but it IS etched on my brain. Her face at that
exact moment is a photograph owned only by me; despite being
taken with my eyes, I am placed, faceless, in the photo, if only
to remind me that I really was there. There is no evidence of
anything. It ended.
Rebound love is in
many ways like rebound sex, except decorum dictates that it takes
place much further along in time. I even noticed myself thinking
"I don't like her as much as [...]". Sounds horrible,
huh? Yeah well, I reserved the right at birth to be a cunt when
necessary; I got the midwife to sign the affidavit on my behalf,
and if it really means that much, I'll have to dig it out for
you. This, like all previous to it, became a friendship, I hope.
This, like all previous to it, ended.
A couple of
dalliances with pain followed. Minor attempts at love were
quickly shot down when lied to, crushed, torn apart, generally
treated like shit. Whether I am making them out to be less than
they were by limiting them to these three sentences is a call for
you to make. Insert your own venomous adjectives.
Which, sadly,
brings us to the present day, and perhaps the safest is no
comment. I don't think it's right to discuss my opinions on
others behind their back, or even in their face, but with others.
I may be selling a somewhat more pathetic image than reality, but
then again, I may be doing the reverse (Reality than image:
pathetic. More, somewhat, a selling. Be; may I?) So yes, too much
has gone unsaid. I don't think you are really getting any insight
into me, other than the me that I am pretending to be today. You
asked, and you received. *turns on latent macho fear* ... But sex
is an entirely different story altogether...*turns it off*