Facebook

So I see she unfriended me. She did it recently, too. Somewhere in the last week, perhaps. I know because every time I went on Facebook I did my best to ever hide or disable the chat pane, which is the only place (besides the fucking group pane) where her name would show up. Now, when I used Tinder, I recognized a friend of hers, and the mutual friend counter sat at zero. I searched for my ex in my friends list, she wasn’t there. With growing trepidation I visited her profile. ‘Add Friend’. She did unfriend me.

The first thing that I felt was the familiar pain of rejection. It blossomed behind my sternum and radiated waves of despair. Then, the rational defense mechanisms kicked in. She doesn’t matter, she’s not special, you neither want nor need anything to do with her, seriously who gives a shit etc etc. It didn’t help much.

I was outside when it happened. It was already dark. I was on campus, smoking on a cement bench under the trees where there’s wifi, having left the rest of my things inside on the desk. I was about halfway through my rolley when I realized what had transpired. I stood up and started walking. I took longer drags, sucked it in deeper, and held it in longer. High levels of nicotine have a sedative effect. I finished it quickly, threw it on the ground, snuffed it, and kept walking. I could feel the numbing sensation kicking in, but it couldn’t come soon enough. I had to stop and put my hands on my knees to steady myself. When I feel things, I feel them. For better or worse. Or perhaps I’m so far in the deep end of social isolation that my psyche has no choice but to kick my ass for every social loss I accrue. Humans are herd animals, and my evolutionary instincts are going apeshit to compel me to just fucking find someone.

After I came back inside and sat my desk I tried my best to stem the tide of pain and angst. I urgently needed to think up a way out.

I could message her asking what prompted the unfriending. No, moron, it doesn’t work that way. She did it because she doesn’t want to have contact with you. Or has she got a new, jealous, paranoid boyfriend who demands that she erase any connections to past lovers? Who knows. Does it matter? Fuck no.

Mustering the Will to Study is All Fun and Games Until

You hit motherfucking paragraphs like these:

oh god what the fuck

Academics: Fuck It, Just Fuck it

So I had two tests scheduled on the 29^th of April. Big ones. The first was an anatomy test on the majority of the musculoskeletal system; this entailed memorizing the origin, attachment, innervation, action, orientation and associated structures of a hundred muscles or so. Refer to here to see the scale of this undertaking. The second test was an analytical biochemistry test: I was relieved to discover on the day that it was all multiple choice. Regardless, for the entire weekend beforehand, I did my best to try and cover everything.

How Do I Into Friends – 14th April 2014

Where the fuck is everyone.

Loneliness. It’s my goddamn Achilles heel.

No matter what I do on campus, no matter what I get right while studying or working out or whatever, the need to just converse with someone is always there. I could be dominating my academics, going from strength to strength in the gym, have all other areas of my life going swimmingly, but it don’t mean shit for my general mental well-being if I don’t like, you know, interact with people.

Oh Hey – 9th April 2014

It’s been a while.

I’ve been doing a lot of drugs lately.

Well, not drugs drugs. A few psychoactive chemicals only one of which abuts into the realm of illegality.

Academics: Cramming

Today’s Tonight’s soundtrack.

What the fuck did I think was going to happen.

It’s one of the worst set of circumstances I continually find myself in.

It starts days, weeks, months before the actual test date. I hear about the date the first time: I either immediately forget it or write it down somewhere, then immediately forget it.

A month or two passes. The date draws closer. People start talking about it.

Studying – 09/03/2014

Today’s soundtrack.

It’s 14:46, Sunday.

Thoughts: Cycles

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.

My Shoes Are Too Fucking Loud

I bought them at the beginning of last year. Cost a pretty penny. Brown leather, zips on the sides. They’re great, except for the fucking soles. There’s wood, then there’s rubber underneath the wood. Except, after having worn them for all but half a dozen times, the rubber on the edge of the heel has been worn away and now there’s just fucking wood. Hard, solid, loud wood.

I used to have strident soles like these back in primary school.

Angela Part 1, Women in General

This is the continuation of this post – my first genuine attempt to meet and connect with girls on campus.

The outcome of the first approach exceeded expectations in every regard. I simply went up to the glass door, knocked, opened, and said “Hey, excuse me, but I thought you’re the cutest girl I’ve seen all day, and I had to come and meet you.” She smiled, we talked, discovered shared passions for psychology and neuroscience, laughed a bit, good shit. The great thing about opening with direct honesty is that there’s zero ambiguity. I’m here because I intend on eventually having sex with you. Naturally, it’s all tact and subtext: I’m not going to say ‘I want to bang you’ right out the gate because any quality self-respecting girl would blow me out instantly. Euphemisms like I think you’re cute and let’s get coffee, balanced with the non-platonic touch on the arm here and a brush against the thigh there, pave the way for the eventual consummation.

This was Thursday last week. We had sex Saturday night. I was hella fucking impressed with myself.