Alright time for another blog. I can’t stay away for too long.
I’m adjusting to college. I am not adjusting particularly quickly, but I am gradually accepting this new life.
I’ve definitely had to accept a few truths people have been badgering me with for years:
1. The world does no conspire specifically against me
2. I jump to false and often ludicrous conclusions about people and situations frequently.
3. The only reason I was “ugly” in high school was because I believed it to be true.
Now about that last one: There’s something you should know about college me. I don’t really have too many friends here but I’m rarely approached in friendship by girls. I am approached by guys. This has been a nasty trip for me.
Without going into too much detail, I recently entered into a hasty and uncomfortable relationship with a guy I barely knew. Things got a little too heavy for me a little too fast. I maybe freaked out more than I should have. I’m not sure though because now having ended it I’m left with a very bad taste in my mouth. The whole affair was messy and without thought. Definitely not my style. Remember a while ago when I was concerned about getting taken advantage of? I’m not sure those concerns weren’t unfounded. I should have been more attentive and now I’m paying the consequences.
For instance today I was hit on in the library. I’ve been hit on before. I think you’d be hard pressed to find a girl this day and age who hasn’t been. Normally I respond with a smile and a quick dismissal of the comment (unless it’s particularly offensive, in which case I bombard the lech with four letter words and threats.) This time however I froze. A tall not unattractive black man, in roughly his twenties, passed by while I waited for the library elevator to take me upstairs. I had my hip locked up, Marilyn Monroe style, and was tapping a heel in impatience.
"That dress looks real good on you. Just thought I’d let you know." He said it in a husky sort of tone that crawled under my skin. I paused and gawked at the man as he ran his eyes up and down me.
"Thank you" I squeaked. And then he was gone. He’d walked into the left wing, just beyond the elevator embankment, and disappeared. Afterword I winced and finger-combed my hair in such a way to hide my eyes. To be honest I had always considered getting hit on slightly flattering. It used to make me feel like I’d won a little prize. A miniature beauty pageant that every woman in the room had been unknowingly competing in.
This time I didn’t feel like I’d won something. I felt like crying. It was stupid really. I don’t know I spazzed like I did. I became paranoid- flinching when people walked by unexpectedly.
I definitely think things have changed. Maybe I’ve changed too. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself. People keep telling me that it wasn’t my fault. I should let myself off the hook. But maybe there are some thing’s that can’t be detached once you’ve known them. There are certain associations that don’t just clean away. Like smells… the taste of copper on your gums… an itch at the back of your throat. Once connected to an image can an idea really truly stand alone again? time can pass after an experience but who’s to say that some things don’t lie hidden, latent under the surface?
I don’t know.
I’m too tired to make sense on paper.
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