October 4, 2002 — I like the abuse

It’s Friday night. No one else is home, and I just want to leave. I hate my room. I hate how dim the light is now that only one bulb works. And I hate that I’m still awake.

I had the chance to go to a show tonight with Nathan and Trisha, and to go to dinner with Andrew and Marika, but I stayed here. I folded shirts. I cleaned. I listened to Bright Eyes and Smash by the Offspring over and over again.

I’m not sure that everything’s alright.

We’ll call this part two of the journal entry that I started a week or two ago and never quite finished...

Right now, I want nothing more in life than to watch a DVD from my couch with a cute girl lying beside me. Or, failing that, to have a cute girl lying beside me, movie or not.

This is as good as it gets for me. And I feel pretty fucking juvenile for admitting as much.

But maybe that’s the source of my problem: I don’t want complex or involved relationships, and once I get what I want out of one — weekly or biweekly DVD viewings in my room or in her room — I become complacent. I don’t put enough effort into initiating challenging conversations or planning out surprises for meaningless anniversaries. Or, if the person is far away and I can’t spend time with them, I forget that I ought to be calling and emailing and showing that I still care. Things fall apart.

I am a bad boyfriend, basically. Or one that needs a girlfriend so low-maintenance that she barely notices she’s in a relationship. A girlfriend who won’t mind never mentioning anything about love, who won’t talk about whether or not her first name would “go” with my last name, who won’t expect me to solve her problems.

I need someone who will work her problems out on her own while I try to work out mine. And then we can huddle together for physical warmth every once in awhile and pretend that we’re not going to die alone like everyone else.

What I think I want is the sort of relationship that people have before they know what relationships are, when kissing is as intimate as it gets, and when conversations about infinity and solipsism and rock musicians are enough to convince both parties that they’re soulmates. Unfortunately, all of this would require an innocence that I don’t have. But in an ideal world that wouldn’t matter.

When it all comes down to it, though, there’s no solution. None that could exist with so many clauses and conditions skewed to my advantage.

It will take much less effort on my part to get used to having the couch to myself, anyway...

Writing this journal entry, I’m conscious of the fact that I’m saying things that would make anyone who might’ve considered being attracted to me change their mind. I’m also conscious of the fact that I’m not telling the complete truth with all the things I’m saying, that I’m exaggerating in places to make myself sound horrible.

Alex told me a few weeks ago that she pities any girl who has an Internet crush on me. (Her words, not mine.) Maybe this is my attempt at giving anyone who has made that mistake second thoughts.

The bathroom light stopped working last week. The bulb is fine, it’s the switch that’s broken. We don’t want to tell our landlord because she’ll blame us, not fix it, and then threaten to raise our rent over the theoretical repair bill.

Normally it’s not that much of a problem; there’s a window that lets in a bit of light, so it’s only an issue at night. And at night the light in the hall is enough if we leave the door open, listening for footsteps in the hall.

But no one is home tonight, so I don’t have to listen for footsteps. I will sit in semi-darkness wondering how long we’ll be forced to leave the door open while taking a shit. And I will watch for mice in the hall. Then I’ll brush my teeth, go back to my room, turn out the light, and close my eyes until today ends.

I’ve had more than enough of today.