the art of timing

Timing. Or even just Time. Let's start with that.



It doesn't really exist does it? I mean, man just came up with time to measure days and then that was gradually broken down... and expanded. All due to that disk's trip from horizon to horizon.



So how is it possible that the logisitics of something that doesn't even exist have left me alone and pretty much screwed for all future realtionships?

TIMING.



And it all begins..... freshman year. Let's take a trip.

Freshman year. Band camp. I was scared, I was unattractive, I was under a lot of pressure, and I was in love.

Or, you know, so I thought.

I thought he was the cutest thing to walk this Earth. And smart and funny, and dedicated, and cute!

My crush peaked in Chicago, and slowly faded again into a being that lived in my brain and occassionally pushed all of my other thoughts out of my ears.

Sophomore year. I was clueless, but I thought I knew what I was capable of. The crush-creature hibernates.

LAST YEAR. After a series of events, the crush-monster in my brain re-awakens.

I remind myself of how cute, and smart, and blahblahblah he is. His... unconventional sense of humor makes him that much more desirable to me.

So far, it seems to be an issue of unrequited love (for lack of a better word) rather than timing, don't you think?

Ohhh no. We spend some time together. We go out to eat. We are inseparable in DC. We can actually be referred to as 'we'... but I still am absolutely in the dark about what HE thinks about ME, which really is a critical point.

Summer. We hang out a few times. He hides his feeling frustratingly well.

I give up on the (Lovegames. play a lovegame. do you want love? or you want fame?) confusion.

NOW. Is it just me, or is he interested now?



NOW that I've moved on.

NOW that I've killed the crush-monster.

NOW he flirts.

NOW he asks my plans for the weekend.









NOW I hate timing.