The Slow Perfectionist… in Denial.

Just “trying to be funny” because you hate doing your homework.  Just “intentionally” drifting off into discordance (a.k.a., your only friend), because you’re not a professional singer.  Kind of like (but not really) Celeste in Jesse & Celeste Forever —always wanting to be right, which sucks the room out of letting people learn from their mistakes.

Except I’m the one that has a hard time learning, accepting and keeping a grasp on being a person.  The perfectionist takes over.  I’ve worked against sleep while blind to the fact that the job was already taken care of…   (Whoops.)

(And Jesse & Celeste Forever is a good movie—totally recommend it.)

“So I choose the easy path: the one I’m used to.  That is what prolongs denial—routine.”

But for a perfectionist in denial, until giving in you keep trying to correct and add things that are “important,” while the physical you deteriorates.  (I wasn’t kidding when I called myself “Near-Homeless Man.”  I haven’t showered in ages.   —Whoops.)

The Dead Endz

—a theoretical boy band

Two or so weeks ago (if you haven’t already stopped reading in disgust), at the USM Glickman library in [somewhere], some girl in a typical group of teens said, “Hi.”  I was about to open the front door to the hallway (where the library is immediately on the right).

I am not the kind of person that usually responds to such gestures.  I don’t even think I should be there.  I instead take it that I shouldn’t acknowledge the gesture given the combination; it took The Paper Boy for me to hear that I’m a “sexually repressed ‘adult’ male” for the first time, since receiving guidance was not manageable.  (Whoops.)

Ultimately, I need to be around people my age.  But my world doesn’t allow that.  I don’t “act my age,” work-experience-wise, and the fact that I am a pre-adult with no Star Wars posters (gasp!) or bongs or other drug paraphernalia, and haven’t ever done any drugs…

“Some laws are meant to be broken.”
— I. M. Stupid (1991–2012)

…and that I don’t treat women like they’re disposable toys, and instead do open the door for them (if they’re not too many metres away)… I don’t fit the archetype of the pre-adult.  So I guess I may just not have any peers. 😦  (Whoops.)

It doesn’t quite help that I hate my last resort: Facebook.  And that I hate Facebook.  Did I mention that I hate Facebook?  No, I don’t think I told you that I hate Facebook.

And it doesn’t exactly help my Existence Disorder moving “a thousand miles a minute in my head” for the “crux” part of this post, which was about how my belief of absolute, eternal aloneness is intellectually driven, was…removed.  (Whoops.)

“There are things I must do in order to maintain my being, versus… identity theft.”

“Darn you, soshul meedea!”

—a crocodile in Pearls Before Swine


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