Contrary to what my blog posts have been focusing on, I've been dealing with way more than heat and a lack of adequate sustenance. Lately I've been feeling like I was wiser at 17 than I am now at 22. In certain respects of course. I wonder if it's really possible to regress that extremely? The world can do so much to you-- bring out those insecurities that never manifested as a child because you were told the sky was the limit.
I was a really good dater at 17. I knew how to summon the siren within and could precisely calculate how much and what type of charm to smear on my victim. And, that's what these people were: victims, victims of my whim.
Then there came a point where I became the victim. I switched to some type of moral romantic philosophy where true love was real and if I was genuine enough with guys, then the right one would find me-- like I was some type of honorable magnet. Whatever. Of course that never happened, and I just attracted douchebags, and fell for all sorts of obvious Casanovas. This was coupled with my extreme affection for sad love songs and cigarettes.
Dating, love and romance are games. Growing into an adult, I failed to realize that the game would never change; you have to be selective about what cards you deal. Chance is not your friend in the realm of "love." I don't have endless experience, but I'd like to think I learn from my mistakes. It's time to stop falling for the glamour and retreat to an earlier command of knowledge.
New York City has the promise of everything I wished to have in a love partner: the poetry, the creativity, the do-gooders, the socially aware, the street cred and the skinny nerds with big personalities. But I came here on my terms, and that's where I'll stay.
