Hey. So. Theoretically. Is it... Is it still weird for us to talk about anything that steps beyond the pale quadrants. I mean, dating and shit. Not with each other. For previously discussed reasons. (Pre-arrival. You know.) Or is that still something better left off of the table. Just stowed in the cooler and left alone until just the right fine autumn day where we can crack that sucker out one last hurrah. Because if it is, that's cool. I don't want to pull the same shit certain other individuals who shall not be named were prone to pulling. I'm an obtuse asshole, but even I'm aware of that particular pitfall. But if it's not, uh. I could probably use someone who is intimately familiar with my particular brand of bullshit to tell me a few things straight. Wait. Okay, that wasn't supposed to sound like I'm guilting you into anything. Ha ha. Self-deprecating humor. Good old Strider. Always knows the right tone to set. No, fuck. I'm making it worse. You're going to wake up to an unidentifiable number of shitty texts of nigh incomprehensible rambling about my shortcomings and failures in pretty much all departments, while attempting to maintain a lowkey sense of smug self-satisfcation that I can acknowledge these glaring flaws and articulate them in a way that means I have no moral responsibly to actually fix what's broke. Guess it wouldn't really be unidentifiable. The texts, I mean. Your inbox is bound to tell you the exact number. Ugh. Okay. I'm going to cut myself off now.
Oh my. Um, sorry for the delayed response, first of all. I was asleep. You might be asleep right now, so again, sorry.
Um... You're saying you need romantic advice, right? I don't mind, even though I'm probably not the best person you could ask. It's not like you're... And he's not... Oh, I don't know. It's fine, is what I'm saying. It's just the two of us, right? I can't leave you hanging if you really need the help. And besides, your "nigh incomprehensible rambling", as you so put it, is making me nervous. And, admittedly, curious. Who's the lucky boy?
That's one way of putting it. In actuality, every time I'm around him it seems to induce the worst kind of word vomit. Not carefully controlled metaphor overloads, but the dumbest shit that has ever spewed forth from any orifice of my body. It's... Nerves, I guess?
Nerves aren't a bad thing. Just a really, really annoying thing. Do you want to do anything about them? Be more direct, see if he's interested? Or would you rather try to sort yourself out a bit more first?
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november 9th, sometime around 4am
So.
Theoretically.
Is it...
Is it still weird for us to talk about anything that steps beyond the pale quadrants.
I mean, dating and shit. Not with each other. For previously discussed reasons.
(Pre-arrival. You know.)
Or is that still something better left off of the table. Just stowed in the cooler and left alone until just the right fine autumn day where we can crack that sucker out one last hurrah.
Because if it is, that's cool.
I don't want to pull the same shit certain other individuals who shall not be named were prone to pulling.
I'm an obtuse asshole, but even I'm aware of that particular pitfall.
But if it's not, uh.
I could probably use someone who is intimately familiar with my particular brand of bullshit to tell me a few things straight.
Wait.
Okay, that wasn't supposed to sound like I'm guilting you into anything.
Ha ha. Self-deprecating humor.
Good old Strider. Always knows the right tone to set.
No, fuck.
I'm making it worse.
You're going to wake up to an unidentifiable number of shitty texts of nigh incomprehensible rambling about my shortcomings and failures in pretty much all departments, while attempting to maintain a lowkey sense of smug self-satisfcation that I can acknowledge these glaring flaws and articulate them in a way that means I have no moral responsibly to actually fix what's broke.
Guess it wouldn't really be unidentifiable. The texts, I mean.
Your inbox is bound to tell you the exact number.
Ugh.
Okay.
I'm going to cut myself off now.
Response: November 9th, 8am sharp
Um, sorry for the delayed response, first of all. I was asleep.
You might be asleep right now, so again, sorry.
Um...
You're saying you need romantic advice, right?
I don't mind, even though I'm probably not the best person you could ask.
It's not like you're...
And he's not...
Oh, I don't know. It's fine, is what I'm saying.
It's just the two of us, right? I can't leave you hanging if you really need the help. And besides, your "nigh incomprehensible rambling", as you so put it, is making me nervous. And, admittedly, curious.
Who's the lucky boy?
November 9th, immediately
[ ANd then. Five minutes later. After typing and retyping walls of text and deciding they aren't good enough. ]
Akoya.
November 9th, immediately (let's just assume they're going back and forth at this point)
...Oh.
I hadn't thought he fancied boys, but now that I consider it...
It makes a lot of sense.
In a good way.
Did he flirt with you, or...?
no subject
There's been some mutual lowkey flirtations.
I think.
no subject
You think? You're not sure?
But it's still giving you that, erm, warm and fuzzy feeling, right?
no subject
In actuality, every time I'm around him it seems to induce the worst kind of word vomit.
Not carefully controlled metaphor overloads, but the dumbest shit that has ever spewed forth from any orifice of my body.
It's...
Nerves, I guess?
no subject
Just a really, really annoying thing.
Do you want to do anything about them? Be more direct, see if he's interested?
Or would you rather try to sort yourself out a bit more first?