always something...

It’s always something, isn’t it? And usually, it’s me. After some intensive introspection I have uncovered a gem of self discovery. I am a dumbass. I mean, I’ve always had suspicions, but after taking a quantitative approach to my previous attempts at relationships I think I have hit the nail on the head.

Sticking with the scientific method I have discovered that the largest flaw lies with my inability to express my emotions. Don’t get me wrong. This lack of understanding of human emotional depth has actually helped me in the past, but it a huge hindrance when you are trying to emotionally connect with another human being. Big time.

Succinctly, I act like a jackass. I can’t talk, even though I am naturally verbose. I sweat, feel clammy, and can’t make eye contact, and this is just with the guys I see across the room in a bar. The worst part is my mind grinds to a brutal halt. I can’t think of anything interesting of funny to say if my romantic life depended on it. Which it does. Which is why it lays six feet deep, waiting for the piles of comfortable dirt to tuck it in so nicely.

I can understand if I was socially inept in other ways, but I really am not. At least, I don’t feel I am. But since this blog is about spastic me and the lack of relationship connectivity, maybe I should reign in those horses, hmm?

Perhaps I should go over some things about myself first.

Factoid #1 about me is I spent my life in a perpetual state of moving, and thus developed a disconcerting knack for meeting people and making friends. I say disconcerting since I also developed a knack for forgetting people, and to this day have a terrible memory for faces and names. My reality was I probably wouldn’t ever see you again in six months, so why bother? Harsh? More often than not, very true. My family (made up of my mother, my older sister and I) were basically nomads. I never stayed at a school longer that 2 years, and if I did, we lived in at least three places. When I went to University, the apartment I lived in for five years was literally the longest home I had ever had.

I feel this is where things really began for me. I developed some great skills, and met all kinds of people, but I never learned anything about maintaining those relationships. I didn’t have to. I was six. Or twelve. Or whatever. I did somewhat envy those around me who had friends their whole lives, and lived in the same house since they were born, but those were their lives, not mine. They seemed a bit weird, actually, and I instead went about my own way. Of course, when you’re a kid, you’re life seems perfectly normal. To you. I learned more about this later on.

Factoid #17 about me is I have absolutely no problem flirting with people I don’t care about. Is this effed up? Oh, sweet sausage in a cup, yes. I flirt like the Dickens. Men, women, a good looking chair. It’s all the same. I don’t care if the person is into me, so I go all out. I joke, I make people laugh, I sing, I dance. I have grabbed complete strangers and made them dance with me and do shots out of my ample chest. But the second I like you? You’re lucky to hear me speak.

What. The. Eff.

So once again. The problem - obvious in its simplicity… and yet, isn’t that the toughest thing of all?