on awkwardness.

people don't believe me when i tell them that i am awkward.

i might not seem like the average awkward type, i suppose. maybe i don't play dungeons and dragons, i've forgotten most of the star trek trivia i knew, and maybe i bathe with relative frequency. i even sleep with girls.

but, i am fundamentally, and essentially awkward.

it's what i do.

talking to people ... is work. some people, i get along with. and i can talk to them sans difficulté. but, the whole, social butterfly, drunken-everybody's-friend-at-the-bar thing that the university life seems to demand, it's just work. i can't handle it.

and the only way that i hook up with girls is if they grab me by the collar and drag me into bed. or just straight up ask.

i'm paralyzed by postmodern angst. i sat in my chair last night, literally unable to move. (so, okay, i was stupid high. but the point remains...) i'm like a fucking figure of speech. but in the end, aren't we all figures of speech? by the violence of our naming, we become nothing more than links in the endless chain, subsumed into the system of différance. language is all signified, and no signifier; nothing really has any meaning, so why try?

i guess in the end, i just have no confidence. christ, i don't even have confidence that i'm fully sane, or that i'm going to live through each passing day. (not that i'm depressed, au contraire c'est la mechanisme of my liberation) so how am i supposed to have enough confidence to assume that anything is actually worth saying?

i'm like the troglodyte in the immortal. there's a bird nesting on my chest, just cos i can't see the point of even moving sometimes.

though i did just write this.

belletrisme!