a part of me takes

a twisted satisfaction in hiding parts of myself from others.

look, I’m interesting

but I’m a fucking hidden diamond and there’s more below the surface

unlike you

and I think it’s only my closest friends, the healthiest of relationships, in which this is torn down


way too much reflection on js

a casual interaction, a happenstance, we’re in the same place at the same time and we end up sitting together and it’s nice, I suppose.

and I’m trying to wrap my head around how I feel right now, and I think, if I am being honest with myself, I am sad.

I am quiet and pretend to be lost in thought as his friends come sit with us and he joins their banter readily; I sit and read just as I’d planned to.

a part of me debates whether I should join their banter as a way to be friendly and prove myself somehow to him that I am worth more than a hookup.

but the dominant part of me doesn’t want to join their banter, is unwilling to put out the social effort to join their banter, partially because of the risk of not fitting fluidly and partially because of the energy I would expend, and that same part of me is adamant that I should completely be myself with no fronts and that if he is right for me, I wouldn’t have to prove myself to him in any way, regardless.

and I think that’s the tension I feel: the necessity of admitting to myself that I want this to work out, the odd mix of respect and insecurity I feel towards myself in not needing this to work out, or not letting this work out, or not letting this not work out by negating the possibility in the first place.

question for us: what is this? is a potential relationship, or a hookup?

yeah I don’t think I’m looking to date right now, either

question for me: either way, but especially if this is a hookup, does this make me happy? is this something I want to continue?

answer for me: I don’t leave our interactions happy. I don’t. it’s a quick smile, a smile that says this is how I know I’m supposed to be feeling and then it’s nothing, it’s a straight face and a light drizzle and a dissociated shuttle ride with the street lights passing over our faces. it’s too marred by my doubt and holding back, and uncertainty, and questioning of every single thing he does and does not say and do.

question for the dating world: is this period of uncertainty natural? is it something you’re supposed to slog through before breaking through to trust and meaningful connections?

I know what I don’t feel. maybe I like him more than I ever like JKm. but I don’t feel the frantic desire for closeness — being intertwined with JKm and still desiring to be physically closer than possible — an ache in my gut after not seeing him for a day — a need to know how his day was, what was wrong, what I could do — a fluttering heartbeat when he texts — an uncontrollable need to smile at the thought of him, cheeks rising up and up

I see JS in public and look away quickly, looking to hide because I am unsure of how to act, because I do not know if I should approach, because I do not know if we are public, and so: I negate the possibility of an incorrect decision by pretending I didn’t see him in the first place.

I dislike being unsure of how to act

continued question for the dating world: or is this different? is this nothing?

question for myself: how do I feel towards him?

question for myself: do I have feelings for him?

question for myself: what do feelings feel like?

a note

a passing thought when reading this article, in context of my current rethinking of identity politics (or, my joining of the collective rethinking of identity politics that the rest of liberal america is stumbling through)

11/27/16, 7:14pm, notes in iPhone

I think the art that someone approves of or endorses can say a lot about a person. In particular, personally, it’s only natural that there is very little art that I actively dislike or criticize, as an extension of my general disapproval of criticism and delegitimizing of others’ experiences (A is superior in what framework to B?)

I think the only art that I can criticize is unintentionally boring art. I think I veer unintentionally futurist and ahistorical, but I suppose that’s something entirely else for me to mull over.

Some things are interesting in who exactly they affect. Who is angry? Who is intrigued? Who vehemently denounces it?

and still, I believe some of identity politics is valid: Joyce’s apolitical views on art, and beauty for the sake of beauty while denouncing all other forms of art, is privileged, flawed, and so white and male that I can’t believe that went undiscussed in high school.

another note on js

I should write that we’ve kept up a sporadic texting dialogue over the past few weeks.

it doesn’t feel natural, but I think that’s mostly my fault. why do I keep seeing him? because I see who he is around everyone else. and I want that. and I think I can have that, if I just let myself go. but it’ll just be that much more difficult, because I’ve put up that wall between us from the very start.