Gulp

Whelp, here goes. Thursday begins. This is a big deal, because I am going to invite some people who I would like to be better friends with to a party thing that I am putting together for Friday night. “So what,” you say, “big deal. I host parties all the time.” Well I don’t. I never do, and I especially never host a gathering for people I wish to impress. It is incredibly stressful for me. Knowing my luck, they won’t be able to go/won’t want to go, so all this worrying will be moot. But I hope not. I hope that they do go, and enjoy themselves. I hope that they like me.

Everyone says one day I will grow up. I am convinced I will be a scared little kid for the rest of my life.

Anyway, I will let you all know how it goes, see you Friday.

THE BEST WEEK EVAR!!1!

I have arbitrarily decided that today (Monday, despite whatever blogger says it is) marks the begging of what is sure to be the best week ever. I am not going to let myself get down. I am not going to let myself be disappointed. I am going to seize every opportunity, live life to the fullest, and go out on all those limbs that I have been envying. This is going to work out for me, it’s the beginning of the turnaround, and it is going to be fantastic.

This is the second time.

I don’t know what it is about girls who are smarter than I. Older than I, even if by just a year. It’s as if I am intimidated, yet that is not quite the right word. It’s more I think about control. I feel that because of the comparative immaturity of my experiences, I will be forced to rely on her to guide the potentially burgeoning relationship, and I don’t trust someone to decided that I am worth knowing without me trying really hard to prove to them that I am. It’s as if I don’t have faith that the “real me” is even interesting, let alone attractive. The real me, if there even is such a thing. I have buried myself under so many disguises, I have experienced too many transformations, and I have had my world yanked out from under me too many times to even know where my center lies anymore.

Or perhaps I really am just afraid, insecure. Looking back on how much I have changed in the last year, I find it impossible to believe that someone who was one year my elder would even consider me the same species, let alone a potential mate. A curiosity perhaps, or even someone to mother, but never a lover. I fear I will always just be a pet; cute, cuddly, even fun, but something ignored when one gets back to their real life.