Tricks of the mind

As it turns out, it's not true what they say: you don't know know when you know; you don't have a blazin' clue. You think you know but what you think you know isn't what you think you know at all (I think). I thought I knew but now I know I'm not (I think). How do I know that I now know that what I thought I knew wasn't actually what I thought I knew?

Easy.

The epiphany came to me this morning when I was in a complete state of frustration (Stouty and I had to cut our morning sex short when we realised that we only had half an hour left to get ready for work - as you can imagine, this left me tremendously frustrated and/or extremely acute). As I tried to put together an outfit for the day, irritated by dissatisfaction, I realised at that very moment that I wasn't in love with Stouty. The revelation came out of context - it had nothing to do with the disappointing sex, my foul temper in the mornings, lack of caffeine or the irritation of having spent the last six consecutive days with Stouty. It was just a simple awakening which made me realise the following: I'm not in love with Stouty.  Of course, I'm still crazy about him and who knows, one day in the not-so-distant future, I probably will find myself in love with him, but what I've been feeling these last two weeks isn't love but rather need.

I needed, wanted, craved, desperately hungered for Stouty to tell me that he loves me. In thinking that I was in love with him and alluding to him that such was the case, I was hoping that he would just come out and say it (say it for f*ck sakes). When he didn't by the close of Valentine's Day, I knew he didn't quite feel that way about me. Luckily today (thanks to sexual frustration), I realised that I don't quite feel that way about him either. More than anything, I was disappointed at not hearing the three words spoken. After all, all I'd been doing for the last two weeks was fantasise about the moment Stouty would drop the L-bomb on me. The thought would send butterflies through my stomach and make me giddy like a kiddy. I don't think I thought for a moment that he might not love me (or given two sh*ts about it) - all I wanted to hear was "I love you" come out of Stouty's mouth.

How is it possible that a few simple words can have such an almighty power? Or perhaps it's not the power of words but the insecurities of individuals and their need to be cherished? In my case, it's probably the latter. In my case, it's more like insecurities fueled by selfishness and no consideration for the consequences. Often, these qualities drive me to seek out attention.

Hopefully, now that I'm not trying to trick Stouty into telling me he loves me, I can stop acting like a psycho towards him. Yes, I've been getting into a mood with him on a frequent basis (something like every other day). Poor guy. No wonder he doesn't love me.

I saw Smarty recently. He came over to drop off some of my things. I cried when he left because I realised how much I missed him. A few days later, he called to let me know that I'd really hurt him but despite that, he's still in love with me. He told me that I treated him awfully and that I could have been a better friend. He's right of course - I treated him like scum and I feel like scum for it. I didn't tell him about Stouty.

Good ol' Baklava wrote me a few texts, all the way from Turkey. Gone are the days when I thought I'd never hear from him again. I've probably got a Baklava for life.

Hey Morgan, it's Baklava. I hope you are fine. You were planning to come to Turkey, if there is something I can do for you just let me know by this number.

or [baklava@baklava.turkey.net]. Take care...

I supposed that number is not mine which seems on the screen :) anyway [number].

Ah Baklava, whatever did I do to deserve such ardent attention?


Depending on my how this weekend unfolds, my next blog may cover:

• Being in love with Stouty.
• Tricking Stouty into telling me he loves me.
• Responding to Baklava's texts.
• Reuniting with M.