Last Friday I made what I feel will amount to an intelligent decision about a young woman in my world. I decided to refrain from favoring this young woman with any attention and to not pursue her romantically at all. I just walked myself through my thought journey, from fantasizing about marrying this young woman and having kids with her during what remains of my life, all the way to the conclusion that I'd do well to let her go instead, by about the stroke of Midnight, Friday night.
I might go into more detail about my train of thought last Friday at a later date, but for now, if anyone wants to know how to go from grandiose fantasies about some supposed great love to deciding to let such a person go in a matter of a few days, I would suggest they buy a copy of Feeling Good by Dr. David Burns. Dr. Burns lays out methods for getting thoughts that undermine one's stability, happiness, and well-being out on paper or in a dialogue with a competent therapist or a sympathetic friend, and coming up with ways to come to terms with things that have dissatisfied, disappointed, or nearly killed someone in the past. For me, what used to sometimes take weeks or months to do now takes days. In 2014, it took me four months to let go of that virgin girl at that business I still patronize. This most recent girl took me FOUR DAYS, tops. That's the nature of recovery I guess. It progresses in the right direction, whereas addiction progresses in the wrong direction.
Suffice to say, after I came to my conclusion that this young woman sought to represent herself as available and interested to me when she may be neither, I thought, "I could be wrong about her." The police use inductive reasoning to solve most of their cases. Inductive reasoning goes something like, "If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, flies like a duck, swims like a duck, walks like a duck, has feathers like a duck; chances are it's a duck." The cops aren't always right using this method, but they are right enough of the time to draw a salary, I suppose. My inductive line of reasoning about her, or the "math" if one prefers, helped seal the deal on my decision about her.
After I make one of these decisions, I often ask myself, "Why me? Why do I have to deal with this shit so frequently?" I've talked in the past about how the impulse for these young baristas and waitresses and whatnot to try to shit on me this way must manifest itself as a temptation to them rather than a well thought out, intelligent decision. Today, I figured that strippers must have to deal with an analogous situation. They probably have to resign themselves to the fact that a certain number of the male patrons of these places are going to want to touch them inappropriately and/or say rude things to them in a number of ways and in a number of situations. it's just part of their job.
For various reasons, I have to deal with abusive, asshole behavior from particularly attractive young women in much the same way strippers have to deal with abusive, asshole behavior from a certain percentage of their male patrons. In the case of this young woman in question, I think she works in a place where a gunfighter mentality took over among employees with traits like hers and she wanted to succeed where other young women failed, i.e. she wanted to get a reputation off of me.
I write on this blog about how I displayed a vulnerability to this kind of attention from young women in the past, and how it has been my cross to bear for all these years. I also talked in recent posts about I thought something might happen on my birthday this year in regards to recognition for Richy Vegas. Well, the whole reason the Legend of Richy Vegas manifested itself to me in the way it did in 1992 lies in the fact that I could not deal with the various forms on unavailable women that would seize my being, one after the other, all throughout my twenties. Further disappointments with woman since then had me fixating on upcoming dates as a way to hopefully resolve the grandiose Legend with the reality I lived and finally receive my recognition as Richy Vegas. The thing is, I do much better now at dealing with the things about my relationship with women that made me so crazy in the first place, so maybe this year I may just look forward to a little cake and ice cream for my birthday.
I might go into more detail about my train of thought last Friday at a later date, but for now, if anyone wants to know how to go from grandiose fantasies about some supposed great love to deciding to let such a person go in a matter of a few days, I would suggest they buy a copy of Feeling Good by Dr. David Burns. Dr. Burns lays out methods for getting thoughts that undermine one's stability, happiness, and well-being out on paper or in a dialogue with a competent therapist or a sympathetic friend, and coming up with ways to come to terms with things that have dissatisfied, disappointed, or nearly killed someone in the past. For me, what used to sometimes take weeks or months to do now takes days. In 2014, it took me four months to let go of that virgin girl at that business I still patronize. This most recent girl took me FOUR DAYS, tops. That's the nature of recovery I guess. It progresses in the right direction, whereas addiction progresses in the wrong direction.
Suffice to say, after I came to my conclusion that this young woman sought to represent herself as available and interested to me when she may be neither, I thought, "I could be wrong about her." The police use inductive reasoning to solve most of their cases. Inductive reasoning goes something like, "If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, flies like a duck, swims like a duck, walks like a duck, has feathers like a duck; chances are it's a duck." The cops aren't always right using this method, but they are right enough of the time to draw a salary, I suppose. My inductive line of reasoning about her, or the "math" if one prefers, helped seal the deal on my decision about her.
After I make one of these decisions, I often ask myself, "Why me? Why do I have to deal with this shit so frequently?" I've talked in the past about how the impulse for these young baristas and waitresses and whatnot to try to shit on me this way must manifest itself as a temptation to them rather than a well thought out, intelligent decision. Today, I figured that strippers must have to deal with an analogous situation. They probably have to resign themselves to the fact that a certain number of the male patrons of these places are going to want to touch them inappropriately and/or say rude things to them in a number of ways and in a number of situations. it's just part of their job.
For various reasons, I have to deal with abusive, asshole behavior from particularly attractive young women in much the same way strippers have to deal with abusive, asshole behavior from a certain percentage of their male patrons. In the case of this young woman in question, I think she works in a place where a gunfighter mentality took over among employees with traits like hers and she wanted to succeed where other young women failed, i.e. she wanted to get a reputation off of me.
I write on this blog about how I displayed a vulnerability to this kind of attention from young women in the past, and how it has been my cross to bear for all these years. I also talked in recent posts about I thought something might happen on my birthday this year in regards to recognition for Richy Vegas. Well, the whole reason the Legend of Richy Vegas manifested itself to me in the way it did in 1992 lies in the fact that I could not deal with the various forms on unavailable women that would seize my being, one after the other, all throughout my twenties. Further disappointments with woman since then had me fixating on upcoming dates as a way to hopefully resolve the grandiose Legend with the reality I lived and finally receive my recognition as Richy Vegas. The thing is, I do much better now at dealing with the things about my relationship with women that made me so crazy in the first place, so maybe this year I may just look forward to a little cake and ice cream for my birthday.
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