Proof of Love

I feel like crap. The cats aren't even bugging me for food.

I did it, finally. I asked, nay, demanded that Frank friend me on Facebook. I delivered the ultimatum: Facebook friend or no friend at all. It looks so pathetic written out like this. Has my life always been this petty? Yeah, I think so. It started when I eavesdropped outside my best friend's window in sixth grade. Listening as she friend-cheating on me, I realized that I couldn't make her laugh like that. I tried to up my game, but I didn't have it.

Ever since, I seem to hook on to people who are unavailable or private. Unable to tolerate any kind of ambiguity, I try to wrest certainty out of them. But unlike the medieval princess in the story, my farm boy doesn’t attempt to prove his love. He doesn’t build the flying machine or fly across the valley or crash to his death. He just walks away.

It's just that it's become such a symbol, the Facebook thing, I mean. It's like everything that's wrong with Frank and me can be described in his refusal to be my friend on Facebook: his unwillingness to let me see his friends and to let them see me. As if it would somehow make right that scorching humiliation of him dropping by for an hour, now and then. Like I am a hooker, squeezed in between work and a night on the town with the boys.

Well, it'd be a start. Wouldn't it?

I gave him the link to this blog, too. The reply I got, or rather that I got one at all, implies that either I got him all wrong or he just didn't check it out very thoroughly.

Why did I share the damn blog? I am not one to think through my actions beforehand. I act on impulse in a way that makes me think it's an instinct driving me. Like the kind of instinct people use to justify their hatred for homosexuality. I remember, as teenager watching two half-naked men kissing passionately in a Danish movie. It scared me witless, and I changed the channel trembling. Later, I was so ashamed of my reaction that I tried to avoid that memory. My point is that something that feels so right (that it simply must be true!) one moment can be so obviously wrong the next when some thought and goal-analysis is applied.

What did I want to accomplish here? 
  • I wanted proof of love, a very particular action.
  • How did I act to achieve this? Blackmail, plus sharing a blog that in its very nakedness embodies the expressed reason for not friending in the first place, i.e. possible (vindictive) indiscretion on my part.
  • How likely is this to succeed? Bahahaha.
[Edited on 2011-06-24]

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