I haven’t posted anything in weeks because I’ve felt there’s nothing new to write about.
I’m still struggling to care enough about my academics to actually study. I replace study time with DotA 2.
Approaching and engaging with women has become exceedingly easy. When I recall the shit I’ve pulled off over the course of approximately the last year I’m hit by the sudden realization that chicks like me and they want to fuck me.
Despite that success, though, I’m still stuck with the same problems. The same ones I’ve had since forever. I don’t do the things I’m supposed to, and then end up regretting it and guilt-tripping the fuck out of myself.
When I manage to summon the rationality to cut out video games, my psyche comes up with the other escape: romantic and sexual intimacy.
I think there’s two avenues with regards to non-platonic interactions with the opposite sex: fucking a new girl every week or finding the one and having all of that romantic shit go down every day.
The former prospect irks me. I don’t want to stick my dick in a new girl every week. I mean, I could do it. Easily. I have the looks and, if I drank, I could numb out the boredom and anguish of having to charm the dumb girls who typically frequent bars and clubs. I doubt there’d really be much space for actual talking, since the music at these venues is usually deafeningly loud. I’d be standing there shouting into her ear hoping that a rope of spittle doesn’t launch itself onto her neck. I’d just pitch up, find a group of girls with at least one attractive one it (the hot ones are rarely alone, if ever), go up, and start shouting into people’s ears. Wait until the time is right and then start getting physical: a playful fingerjab in the side here, a hand on the thigh there. Then the kiss, then the make-out, then the “do you want to go back to my place” and then either fucking if she’s down or getting the number and never following up if she makes an excuse and says no.
However, that shit is so rote and mechanical and akin to masturbating with another persons body that I’m not at all keen on it.
On the other hand, I can drown in the feels for someone I love mind, body, and soul. This is what I think about when I’m lonely. Casual sex briefly makes the longing and melancholy go away. We’ll lie there, hot, naked, sweaty. Nature, bless its heart, thinks that the chick is probably impregnated and thus floods my brain with bonding chemicals. In that moment, I’m with someone I like. Then the afterglow wears off and I start seeing the flaws. A lack of intellect. No sense of humor. Weird teeth.
The stratospherically high standards I apply to my own life, I apply to chicks as well. I can’t be with someone unless I’m completely comfortable with them. Even if they challenge me, call me out on bad interpersonal habits or irrational outlooks and I get mad and get angry, I’ll still come around, learn from my mistakes, and grow as a person. All of the frustration inherent in spending time with someone who’s not compatible is absent. She understands everything I say and has insights into how I think. She gets my jokes and can deliver comebacks. She’s beautiful. Sexy. Doing anything with her will be fun because she’s there.
But, I have to take care of some other shit before I get around to her, for reasons I’ve explained before.
It’s the same cycle, over and over. I want a girlfriend to be happy. To get a girlfriend I need to be comfortable with myself. To be comfortable with myself I have to exercise discipline and self-control and do the right thing. To do the right thing takes effort and willpower and wears me out and makes me binge on things I regret. I feel bad, and I want a girlfriend to make me feel better.
There’s only one thing to do, really.
Tonight, you pukes will sleep with your textbooks. You will give your textbook a girl’s name, because this is the only pussy you are going to get. Your days of skimming handouts and winging tests are over! You’re married to this book. This compendium of science and knowledge. And you will be faithful. Port, hut!