The universe wants the number 11 to remind me of her. Don't ask me why. You tell me why.

It's one of those nights again: where I think about myself. I think about what's wrong with me, and the irony is, probably the only thing that's wrong with me is the fact that I always try to isolate what it is that's wrong with me. Sort of an 'it-would-eliminate-itself-if-it-could-eliminate-itself' thing.

But let's face it, there is something wrong with, as there are so many things wrong with so many people. But wrong is relative of course, please don't bother bringing this to my attention. By wrong I mean: I want something that I can't seem to attain. That's why I'm looking at what's wrong with myself. I want something, and I can't get it, and I tell myself I can't get it, and I ask myself 'why?'. And I don't think that this is one of those 'you-could-have-it-if-you-tried' sort of things. It seems more like a: if-I-brought-it-up-with-a-friend-they'd-ask-me-why-I-even-wanted-it sort of thing. And, once again, I'll just say that I am talking about a girl. Or two girls. Two. I have no focus. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I need to choose. But no, no. People don't need to choose. Maybe I do. As soon as I think it's the one person who I have chosen, there's the number 11, staring me right in the face, reminding me of the other one. Of the f--. man. i'm still a child. i cant. im not. i cant. how could i? what was i even thinking? im still thinking it. why? its unfathomable. there are things i dont get. things i cant have. things i shouldnt have. things i want just to have, but if i had them, would i want them? do i need to get them first to find out? can I ever even get them? can i ever even get her? either of the hers. either one. No. I have to choose. I have to know. and once I know, then I can... then I can know what I want. Whether or not I was right. Right about wanting the things I want. but i cant. what am i thinking? that i chose one of them, that it would help any? im such a fool. i...... i'm sorry.

listen; im not close enough to her for me to realistically believe that she should consider me as anything more than a less-than-good-friend. i have no reason to believe that she should choose me over the other people she could choose from. I'm not charismatic. I dont do anything. I'm a geek; a full-fledged geek. Comic books, video games, science. I'm no fun. Look at my website. It's no fun, and it's a reflection of me. Also no fun. A bring down. I refuse to play games when games are necessary. and they are necessary. It is necessary to believe you have a chance with her when you are talking to her. That is a game. A game I refuse to play. I refuse to believe I have a chance with her. So I withdraw. I withdraw from her more than I would withdraw from talking to someone who I did not necessarily have romantic fantasies with. This is the opposite reaction to what would work. what would work? Just when I think I'm doing well, just when I can begin to play the game, just when I can convince myself I stand a chance, then I realize the key thing that's missing, because she manages to point it out: I can't touch her. I can never touch those for whom I... I can't think of a non-dorky way to say those for whom I long. I can't touch them. All I have to offer is my mind, but they get that anyway, so why would they commit to a cold body. A cold, awkward body. Why? WHYWHWYHWYWHYWHWYWHWYWHWYWHWWYHWWYWHW? That's not even a question. What kind of thing is this? What's wrong with me that I can't touch the people I want to touch? I see her freely touching other people, so freely, and not me. never me. It's my fault, not hers, I know it. I can't blame anyone but me. I know that. Don't bring that to my attention either. Why have you even read this far? Who am I kidding, you haven't. You're not reading this. You're not real. Who are you? Doesn't matter. Then she's touching people, but no matter how close I think I'm getting, I never get a touch. Nothing. It's my fault. I know. I know. I know. What do I think I am? If I wanted to touch, I should initiate. I know. It's my fault.

And then when she's all I can think about, I pull up to my house and shut off my car's engine at 2:22 am. 22. 11. Then I'm thinking about her again. The one who I am reminded of by the number 11. Am I stupid? Does this mean anything? Or nothing? Probably nothing. Probably. But if it does mean something, I'd hate to miss it. Are there girls who are simply out of my league? Answer me! You can't just come here and expect entertainment! Get involved! Answer me! I'm obviously not in the right mind to answer my own questions! I'm so sorry. Please, don't worry. You're not even real, how can I expect you to answer me. You're not real. I'm not really talking to anyone. I'm talking to myself. You're no one, but I can almost see you. I can almost make you out. Almost. You're not here yet. You haven't come yet. When you do come, I wonder how you'll react. This is my mind, almost. Yes, no. Yes. This is. This is my mind. This is my mind. Can my mind be put into words? No, yes. No. But if It could. This is as close... I'm the only one who can say... and I say yes. Yes this is my mind. As close as it gets to my mind. My uninterrupted thought process. My selfish, destructive, disorganized thought process. Dangerous, uninterrupted thought.

Please just come to this place already. Come here. Be here. Be here and have fun here. Be here and ask questions. Be interested. Be comfortable. Please? Sorry.