Ode to Narcissism

More of the same.

We all have this ideal image that we want to project. We want to be viewed in a certain way, so we say and do specific things to further this end. We do this in pretty much all social situations, although the way we want to be perceived can change and generally is specific to each situation.

So fucking what, right?

I don’t want to be perceived as some love-sick, heartbroken shell of a girl who cannot function without and has nothing to talk about other than the departure of her boyfriend/fiance/whatever. But it fucking sucks, and I feel like over-analyzing it until there is nothing left for scrutiny. Because that’s the way that I am. And maybe, despite not wanting to project this image, I’m going to. Because I am my own worst enemy, and I’ve just got to get it out.

As previously stated, I have never ended a relationship on good terms. I’ve even managed to end one-night flirtations on bad terms. It is truly a testament to my antagonistic nature that even someone I only had a simple crush on (without any physical or even really emotional connection whatsoever taking place) is on bad terms with me. What the fuck?

A friend recently set me up on a date with her boyfriend’s best friend. He is a cop working in Las Vegas. I think that, in a way, she thought that a change from my usual dating pattern would be good for me. Musicians are very bad people to date, for all of the obvious/cliche reasons and even some other less obvious/cliche reasons. Being as sensitive and prone to fucking up as I am, I should not date them. Yet, I do. Almost exclusively. And it is always by accident. I do not seek these “types” out. It just happens. We’ll meet at a show, talk over drinks, exchange numbers, and thus will begin my downfall.

But I digress.

I went on a date with this Las Vegas cop, and things went… well, I suppose is a safe word. We had dinner and drinks. We talked about our lives (well, to be frank, he talked about his life, and I just kind of listened and added a few small anecdotes of my own). We laughed. We flirted. We didn’t sit in uncomfortable silence, so as I stated, “well” is probably an appropriate word to describe the date. Throughout the course of the evening, I learned:

A. He was in the military and fought in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was also stationed in Haiti for awhile (which he had not-so-nice-things to say about);

B. He is divorced because his ex-wife cheated on him while he was stationed abroad; and

C. He works in a special sector of the LVPD which focuses primarily on infiltrating and busting up drug rings.

I don’t want to belittle him or the things that we talked about, because I considered it a good date and the conversation was interesting and I know it was probably difficult for him to talk about a lot of this. He seemed to be having a good time, and paid me several compliments throughout the night. He flirted fairly profusely. He laughed a lot. He talked a lot. But, he did not move in for a goodnight kiss, and I did not make a move myself. Should I have felt slighted? Did he? I think, deep down, I know that if I wanted to, I could have established a relationship with this guy. I saw it all as if it were already happening. But I pulled back. I stopped myself from going any further than I did, because I didn’t see the point and I didn’t want to waste the poor guy’s time.

Maybe I am just out of practice. Maybe I have no idea what people say or do on dates anymore. Four years is a long time to be off the market, so to speak. I don’t even know if I want to be back on the market. What’s the point? Dating, to me, seems like a series of silly dates wherein each party calculates how much information (and what type of information) they are going to share to project their desired image. Then, eventually, after X amount of silly dates, talk of commitment comes up, wherein each party decides the degree to which they are going to play hard to get. After that comes the commitment stage, wherein one party informs the other party that they are ready to commit and that the other party should commit, also. Later, after X amount of sex, conversation, and traveling, and the merging of friends, introductions to families, couple photographs, et al., problems start popping up. Maybe he hums annoyingly under his breath more than you’d like. Maybe he hates that you bite your nails. Perhaps his inability to tell the difference between “then” and “than” begins to gnaw at you. Perhaps your road rage drives him insane. Whatever the case, these problems plague the relationship. These little things build into bigger things. Maybe your sex life starts to suffer. Maybe you start spending more and more time apart. Whatever. Then comes that day where one of you sits the other down and has “the talk.” You know, the talk where all of that shit culminates into one single conversation that essentially conveys the other person’s desire to break up and “spend some time apart.” Call it a break, call it “me” time. Whatever moniker you choose to give it, the relationship is over.

Or you get married, have kids, and express your secret hatred of each other through senior citizen bickering until one of you dies, and the other is left alone with no one to argue with anymore.

Again, I ask, what’s the point? Am I missing something here? Is there a point to any of this? Or does it all end in exactly the same way? Should I be grateful for the companionship, enjoy the memories of the good times, and learn from the experience, despite the fact that it ends in the same bullshit way?

Or maybe I’m the problem, and that’s why it doesn’t work, and that’s why people leave. Maybe I’d leave me, too, if I were on the other side.

I just don’t know anymore. And I’m starting not to care, which is scaring me a little.