For the past couple of weeks, I spent some moments meditating on how well I've learned how to manage my tendency to fixate on unavailable women. I've not eliminated my tendency to fixate on unavailable women, but I've learned how to manage it. These unavailable women I've gone on and on about in this blog seem a LOT less radioactive than they did even in these past ten days or so. That is to say, the NOTIONS I have of these unavailable women seem a lot less radioactive than they did as lttle as ten days ago.
In my last post, I wrote about how I first had a desire to dramatically change just about all aspects of how I thought about girls and women, and how I often acted towards girls and women, since the age of fifteen or sixteen years old. I said I didn't come upon the means of HOW to change until I reached the age of twenty-three. I talked about how a young girl named Sara backed me into a corner, so to speak, in an Art History class during my senior year at U-Texas Austin. I came up with an idea to try to "turn my back on love," and see how that went. That whole concept led to this cat and mouse game that ended up with me cutting Sara loose in the fall of 1988, after I'd graduated, but when I'd still see her in the hall at school whenever my graduate school application process took me there.
My complaints about Sara-the things that compelled me to cut her loose-stemmed from how unavailable, inaccessible, and to some extent, unapproachable I found her, still, after how well I managed her getting all up in my grill, so to speak. I have those same complaints, essentially, about that former cashier from that grocery store I patronize, and boy, do I have those same complaints about that famous person I've never even met (on STEROIDS in her case).
Well, I don't know if I need to inform anyone of this, but I, along with just about everyone else, live in a world that's CRAWLING with available, accessible, and approachable women. Granted, they are not typically twenty-two year old hotties, but what, again, was my principal complaint about those two women in the above paragraph; that they weren't available, accessible, or approachable. I may not particularly want to date women from such an available pool, mind you, but I don't think seeking out opportunities to engage with more available, accessible, and approachable women, but stopping at that, makes me a bad person. Does it? We shall see.
For the longest time, I thought that if I could achieve success in dating hotties through the "turn my back on love" approach, I could solve the problems all of these "nice guys" and incels have with women. I thought they could see my success and adopt my approach and the techniques that went along with that approach. Now however, I'm not so sure. In these past two posts I wrote about having a tremendous desire to change that went back to my teenage years. I don't think incels and nice guys could handle giving women who weren't twenty-two year old hottie types the time of day. If I could instill a tremendous desire to change in incels and nice guys, and have that desire to change lead these guys to the places I'm willing to go, I would probably not even be sitting here typing away on this blog, but rather occupying the top spot in the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington fucking D.C. That is all.
In my last post, I wrote about how I first had a desire to dramatically change just about all aspects of how I thought about girls and women, and how I often acted towards girls and women, since the age of fifteen or sixteen years old. I said I didn't come upon the means of HOW to change until I reached the age of twenty-three. I talked about how a young girl named Sara backed me into a corner, so to speak, in an Art History class during my senior year at U-Texas Austin. I came up with an idea to try to "turn my back on love," and see how that went. That whole concept led to this cat and mouse game that ended up with me cutting Sara loose in the fall of 1988, after I'd graduated, but when I'd still see her in the hall at school whenever my graduate school application process took me there.
My complaints about Sara-the things that compelled me to cut her loose-stemmed from how unavailable, inaccessible, and to some extent, unapproachable I found her, still, after how well I managed her getting all up in my grill, so to speak. I have those same complaints, essentially, about that former cashier from that grocery store I patronize, and boy, do I have those same complaints about that famous person I've never even met (on STEROIDS in her case).
Well, I don't know if I need to inform anyone of this, but I, along with just about everyone else, live in a world that's CRAWLING with available, accessible, and approachable women. Granted, they are not typically twenty-two year old hotties, but what, again, was my principal complaint about those two women in the above paragraph; that they weren't available, accessible, or approachable. I may not particularly want to date women from such an available pool, mind you, but I don't think seeking out opportunities to engage with more available, accessible, and approachable women, but stopping at that, makes me a bad person. Does it? We shall see.
For the longest time, I thought that if I could achieve success in dating hotties through the "turn my back on love" approach, I could solve the problems all of these "nice guys" and incels have with women. I thought they could see my success and adopt my approach and the techniques that went along with that approach. Now however, I'm not so sure. In these past two posts I wrote about having a tremendous desire to change that went back to my teenage years. I don't think incels and nice guys could handle giving women who weren't twenty-two year old hottie types the time of day. If I could instill a tremendous desire to change in incels and nice guys, and have that desire to change lead these guys to the places I'm willing to go, I would probably not even be sitting here typing away on this blog, but rather occupying the top spot in the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington fucking D.C. That is all.
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