Posting of substance? Be aware.

"I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter
and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs." - Iago, Othello, Act I, Scene I, 116-117.

And thus, having adequately warned you about the content of the post, those who are unconcerned about or unwilling to look at such matters should probably skip downwards (or upwards) to the next entry on their friendslist. I'll even give you a break or two so that you notice this segment.




There. Can't say I didn't warn you. I try not to be angsty or mono-topical (excepting when I'm being boring, and that happens regularly) in my journal, so bear with me.

You see, not that I'm anywhere even remotely close to situations that might involve Iago's jibe, but occasionally, the mind thinks about those sorts of things. And it presented a most interesting thought to me. One side posited the desire to know what the whole matter was about, providing anecdotal evidence somewhere that I had read that the first time is not always the best time. The other side provided different anecdotal evidence about how it was so much more meaningful and special to preserve the state of not knowing until one had found someone worth staying with for extended periods of time, and possibly children.

I suppose desperation is a close analogue to what some part of me is feeling. Something about the prime part of my life passing without a mate. Mor'an likely it's biology telling me that if I want to pass on my genes, I should go out and get cracking. Having roommates last year that were intimate probably helped this side's argument along pretty well. I admit that's he's fairly convincing and that I'm probably partial to him in some way. I suppose I have some idealized version of it, but I've heard (probable double-entendre there) that it's, well, good, both from men and women.

On the other side of the argument, there's my Catholic upbringing still saying that it's really just for procreation, and should be saved until marriage, and stories from both men and women that waiting made it more worthwhile when it finally happened. More prominent than that is a notion of somewhat low self-esteem and a general lack of belief in my own attractiveness, more due to lack of evidence to the contrary and probably slightly incorrect assumptions I have about what the populace that is looking for intercourse seeks in their partners. Generally, the image there is either someone of more obvious physical strength than I, or a personality type that is mostly antithetical to my own self. Thus, it's likely not right, but it's there.

The two forces strive with each other, providing excellent point and counterpoint to the whole idea. Perhaps the reason it doesn't surface much is, as I've noted, I'm unaware of any potential situations in my own life that could lead to this sort of thing. But I suppose I'm already playing out the hypotheticals, wishing at the same time for a relationship where it was only physical, with no need for deeper contacts, to get "experience", and at the same time thinking that such a relationship would be disastrous to my mental health, and that I really should be going after one of the supportive, nurturing type even if there's no possibility of the sexual act involved. Naturally, having both appears to be an ideal solution and a recipe for destruction all at once.

Am I over-thinking it? Probably. It's part frustration, part desperation, and part knowledge all working against me. So, I'm soliciting opinion again. Post with your name or without it, I care not. Anecdotes, stories, facts, arguments for, against, whatever. Even though we all know that I'll have to make that decision when it presents itself, could those of you who have more wisdom than I, on all sides of the argument, share it?

Mm-hmm.

First: Many thanks to those that have responded to the previous post. I'm still mulling things over in my head, both with your responses in mind and my own chaotic mental landscape. That's why I haven't been my usual comment-y self.

Perhaps I feel a little bit like the character in Not my Type.

Tomorrow looks pretty packed. Many things to potentially be doing, some of which are appealing, some of which are most definitely not. But I have kept my book costs under $200, I believe, for this semester, a first, I think, in four years. Anyway, I did my athletic band audition tonight, so I'll know soon whether I'm actually part of the Women's Basketball Band again. There is now much to do with regard to schooling, so I'll probably look like I'm doing the Flaming Bunny Hop for the next few months or so. But that's okay. I brought it on myself, and now I'll slog through it.

Want to know why the lottery is a tax on intelligence? And after that, ponder this.

You might find the New World Disorder zine interesting. I'm not sure why I do, but I do.

And finally, if you just want to be irritated at bureaucracy, try this: Santa loses his altitude exception.

So I'm off towards my bed and the world of the dreamer (I had one about doing Matrix-fu with a katana, carving up opposition while trying to protect my band director. Although the opposition's a little hazy. Maybe Agents?)