Of Jockey, clubs, and feelings

I think the white pair fits me more snugly than the black pair, which I’m currently wearing.

Why do I torture myself by going to clubs? There are several things that are certain in life, or at least in my life.

1. I do not approach women in clubs. I have in the past, but various rejections have led me to believe that this is not actually a good strategy.

2. Whenever I see a woman I find attractive or intriguing, it is really only a matter of seconds before I see her put her arm around/dance all up on/make out with another woman.

3. When I go dancing with friends, inevitably they end up dancing with each other more than with me.

4. When I get fed up and sit in a corner watching, sadly, no one thinks I am attractive in that brooding loner sort of a way and decides to sit down and talk to me.

I just feel sad. The conversation on gender identity didn’t really go in the direction I planned–things got a little confrontational and theoretical, including mention of Foucault and some argument about language–and even though we’ve planned another one to get more into feelings, it leaves me feeling… I don’t know. Lacking? Even less sure of myself than I was?

Who am I?

[Girl] asked me, before this began tonight, if I felt uncomfortable in my body. I replied that I don’t. I can remember times from growing up when my breasts annoyed me, and yeah, menstruating sucks, but other than that I’m pretty down with my body. I enjoy strengthening it. I like that my jeans are hanging lower than when I bought them. I like the tired feeling in my triceps from knowing they’ve been used.

There are moments when I think–this is what I was born for. I have that when I row. I used to have it when I wrote, but I’ve lost that a little.

And there are moments when I think–this is what it means to live, to truly be alive.

And there are moments when all I can think about are her arms around me, and I am so fucking alone.


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