Windmills

The Princess and I had been having at the Café a couple of days ago, telling each other stupid jokes and dreaming up plans to make enough money to open our own office somewhere in town in the next year We’d gotten together to fix up the party, but due to no fault of ours, it’s not going to happen. Because the venue we really would like to have is under-construction, and she’s just too busy.

We talked about crying that morning. She’s not cried in months, and the last time she did was when she started thinking about Betty’s death, and Betty was her dog. I’m not a pet person, so I wouldn’t know the sort of emotional attachment that these creatures can generate, and I don’t think it’s odd to not cry as often as I do, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it either.

For some reason, a great deal of people I know personally think I’m unnaturally depressed and emotionally unstable. I’ve no idea why I cry so much, and I wish I wouldn’t sometimes, because it can be embarrassing, but there’s nothing that can be helped. The princess is simply more controlled then I am, I guess. Not that I don’t have control over my own life, but I certainly live it differently. She doesn’t date as prolifically as I do, and the last time she’d really given her heart away was… I have no idea. She doesn’t talk about these things and it’s not in my power to say anything either. I think I do it something like every other Tuesday.

Someone made me feel uncontrollably melancholic the other day, but it wasn’t for long. He said I was chasing windmills, and he’s not the first one to do it either. Maybe I am, and maybe I’m giving too much of myself to people that will never return the same sort of respect and affection I give them, but I don’t think relationships need to be that way.

Yesterday I’d walked past a confectioner that was a couple of blocks away from where Élan lived, and I thought it would be fun to drop a box of cookies off at the guard-house and leave a silly note. There was absolutely no reason as to why I did, I just thought it would be fun. And I like it when people do things like that for me –believe me, pleasant surprises are the best gifts any guy can give a girl-, so I did. It had some silly note like, Come Play With Me.

There’s really no reason behind why I do most things, I don’t see the need for it. One of the most irritating things about living with other people is that everyone seems to think that life needs reason. It’s a selfish way to think. Everything I do has to have a reason for self improvement, or self-gratification, or worst still, self-advancement. You know what? I think I’ve had a pretty good lot in life up till now just by treating other people with consideration, and when my time comes and I need their co-operation, I know they’ll be there for me.

I always get extremely upset when people tell me that I’m chasing the wind, and running after every newer romances, and falling in love with people that can never give me what I want (although I might be willing to offer a big part of myself to them. But I’m not altruism, no one is, and I never expect more then someone else is willing to give, and will never give more then I am comfortable to. Unless there’s something else I can get in return, to make up for the sacrifice I’ll be taking. And it can be as simple as the promise of a regular date, or trip out of town, whatever. But that’s not the way relationships work. As much as we all would want to, you can’t make anyone promise to date you. And when that happens, when it is forced, will it be as fun as you hope it to be?).

I had been reduced to a blubbering mess with a blocked nose and my face obscured by a piece of Kleenex half the time. It was good to get it all out, and self-pity is an indulgence we should all pamper our selves with occasionally, if someone else is kind enough to want to share the moment. But that was really what it was.

Thinking about it, I realize why I had cried so hard that afternoon. Because I was sad that I had been so kind and so generous to these men that I have really, truly cared for, and somehow, it just seems like they never appreciated it for all it was worth. (Of course not every single person I like is like that. And sometimes under-appreciation isn’t so much because they really aren’t grateful for me, but that it’s not in their power to return the gratitude –or they just don’t know how-). But at the end of the day, I am still young, there’s no need for me to find a substantial relationship, and if I like treating other people nicely and having my little tableau romances, then I don’t see why I should be sad if it’s almost never equal.

No damn romance in the world is ever going to be equal anyway. And the one in power is the one that loves the other less. But I’m not so sure power is as important as the ability to feel desire and to feel the need that someone else would really appreciate it if you did that little extra something for them.

I met Mr. B the a day before that, and apparently he’d got me a Hustler T-Shirt that screamed ‘Barely Legal’ on it’s front. It really made me grin because it’s just nice to know that someone at some point in time, had been thinking about you even when you weren’t thinking about them. And the T-Shirt was just so me (as far as I can remember, most of the gifts he’d gotten me since we’d known each other had been t-shirts. He’s got a thing for T-Shirts, I particularly like the Angkor Wat collection. And maybe the Chang Beer one).

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Anyway, I think I’ll remove comments for good. I don’t like to know that people are reading. I don’t like to blog like people know who I am, or disapprove of what I do. Because that would defeat the purpose of blogging in the first place.

Think what you want, if it’s nice, go ahead and email me. If it isn’t, you should simply go find somewhere else to stick your garbage. It’s free anyway.

xoxox