Never the Twain Shall Meet
Since I’m on self-imposed extroverted probation, I think investing more for the sake of horoscope prediction would be both hypocritical and nonsensical. (Who’s the astrologer anyway? Venture capitalist part-timer?)
Wishing her a happy anniversary (tomorrow) would be such an investment. A laudable effort during this stint of pessimism.
It won’t be much a happier time — not a sad one either — a reminder of past good time, and the reminiscent of sentimental recollection.
There’s nothing much to celebrate. It’s not a significant event of cherishable memory to date. It’s been whole month of hectic days and when I got allotted time of 3 full days of a time off — no house mate, no courses, no work, full 3 days to spend with her — she unfortunately had had to have this time of the whole month to be on her own. “To have a time of her own.” At [his] place, nonetheless.
Yes. She had issues.
No. That’s not selfish of her.
Rather, it’s selfish of me to get too excited with the overindulge anniversary celebration: the night out with the view of the urbanism gone haywire with shimmering artificial light that runs with power plant that uses USD100 per barrel oil; or a dinner at the fake Italian Pizzeria over the hill overlooking the cityscape with the menu of pretentious Italian flavour of cheap virgin olive oil and questionable ingredients. Then again, she hates Italian food — when it involves herbs, eggplants, olives, onions and not-so-fresh-tomatoes. She’s finicky with her gastronomic experience, and people wonder why I had a trouble to please certain aspect of the investment.
The day after, domestic animals slaughtered by the herd. Sanguine blood drenched the soil as the muscle convulsed painfully — denying death. Flesh gathered for the masses in commemoration of the willingness of an ancient prophet to sacrifice his son.
I bleed frustration as I willingly sacrifice myself.
Morning kisses, midnight embraces and sweet nothings in a text base may not be as analogue as the real thing that she revels [with] when she retreats at her safe haven of cohabitation. No wonder there’s no need of toleration over the need to commensurate the affection. It’s a reverie of immaterial. Come to think of it, why bother with the prolong poetic rhythm at unappreciated value.
Ah, but when it comes to that. I was labelled as callous on so many level. The scenario is, I barely can get in touch with all the restriction she imposed herself when she’s at [his] place. The best and long conversation usually involves confrontation or a token call out of boredom or when [he] isn’t available. This, not including when she-needs-to-talk occasion.
My call often treated as an interruption since it’s an intrusion of her space and needs: during her odd hour of sleeping time, during the rush hour to and fro from [his] place and her break hour during her work. Classic demonstration of my egocentric.
In summation, that’s one deficit investment.
I rather invest a whole lot more for my own tangible needs: Italian Mares wetsuit and diving mask; Italian Cressi buoyancy control device (BCD); Swedish Poseidon regulator and octopus; Bob Evans Force Fin scuba diving fin; Finnish Suunto gauge and dive computer; Californian CamelBak hydration pack, Canadian Arc’teryx softshell, San Francisco The North Face adventure gears, French Salomon running shoes, German Deuter backpack, German Leica camera and Cupertino Apple MacBook Pro.
Now that’s profitable tangible investment.
Relationship investment will be kept at the most minimal and economical effort. I’m back to limited celibacy. I got to think about myself since I got into this selfish business. I might been promoted to something more sinister just after she read this.
I can’t barely read between the line of these cliché phrases: “fine”, “whatever” and “nothing”. Because I’m dense like a brick.
Our path of safe haven is a reminder of our own priorities. She and her needs. Me with mine. Shall our path cross, a simple hi won’t hurt a fly.