A wannabe smooth talker – I just want to get you to bed

Disorganization has never been a friend of mine, ever, but only just now I feel that I have become the personification of incompetence – socially inept and scandalously crushing on every third man that walks past. Who am I? Hesse? Observations, after a while, turn you into a paranoid. People have been wondering why I’m good at assessing other people, as in their personalities and so on. All this comes from simply observing. Biased, as I am and others have already accused me of being, I judge the look and the first impression someone gives me. In many occasions, the eyes or the firmness of the facial expression tell a hell of a lot about the person. You study the wrinkles (are they disturbed or happy?), the colour of the eyes, the width and form of the mouth, the size of the forehead and the structure of the hair. Others would say the hands or the way they walk, but I don’t find these annotations interesting. The truth is we all judge the book by the cover, but what we don’t do is talk about it; we give it a try and then we dare to say the first word about this person. And again, biased as I am, I tend to write the first word about the person without having spoken to him or her – does it count as speak? I don’t like the term ‘speak’ anyway, because you usually need people around, which then means, you’re talking about that person behind his or her back. So you write it, which is easiest and most convenient because you have no clue who reads it or whether they are being pointed out at all (as I don’t use names).

As I have implied earlier, regarding socializing, bonding and small talk starters, I never make the first step. And this ultimately leads to people prejudging me, calling me quiet, shy and inaccessible – because I don’t do small talk. Right, that was a lie. I have been small-talking (by force) the last couple of weeks, otherwise how the hell can I ‘bond’?! Goddammit.
The most terrible thing is that I find myself disagreeing and not tolerating other people’s statements and feigned enthusiasms. I know, how dare I say something like that…

I am sociable. I am sociable only when you are ready to talk with me about your deepest fears and regrets and not about your favourite colour because I will find out eventually when I see the colour of your mobile phone or iPod. This is the main reason why people prejudge me and say I’m inaccessible? Truth is: You are inaccessible to me.

My horoscope is right, I am prone to nervousness. And I have been, especially in the last couple of weeks. Therefore I am not surprised that I’ve been overwhelmed by blackouts as if I’ve completely lost my mind, my memories, as though my soul has just left my body out of dread and unutterable shame.

I have been trying to figure out where my current insomnia comes from. First I thought it was my ‘crushing’ on people, but it can’t really be since I’ve been eating cake. Or am I eating out of exasperation, because I can’t have my love candidates? I suppose so. When I’m hopefully and optimistically in love, I usually lose three to four kilos in two days (the inner fire of love and desire, you know?).
The other scenario would be my Dickens notebook on my night table. The moment before hypnagogia, you often start to hear noises, but what I hear are words – my own words usually. Then I grab for my mobile phone for light and scribble into my Dickens notebook.  There are people who think too much which results in sleeplessness, it’s because they don’t bother putting those images back in order or down into words. As for me, after 2 or 3 hours of random scribbling (till ca. 3:30 am), I feel more relieved and less overflowed by words; words that I could never ever speak. When you speak you forget. I already forget while I speak, which explains my catastrophic blackouts. I often get them when someone asks “How are you?” or “Do you smoke?” I hate these questions because the answers aren’t as simple as you think; it’s not YES or NO, GOOD or BAD – these are definitely not my answers, because they are dishonest and inaccurate! And very often I cannot be bothered explaining anything to you unless you seem dear to me, which doesn’t always happen! I’ve always envied smooth talkers. They should keep a dictaphone with them as a notebook substitute. Unfortunately, they don’t care enough.

I don’t write because I think it’s fun; it’s because I have no choice.


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