Tuesday, 05/04/04 - 10:38 pm.
My best-est friend (although he happens to suck) Angel sent me a link...and I was all like, dude, WTF?!!!!!111
Ok, to type this entry I need to mention a very, very important information: Trent is not Cel's boyfriend.
*slaps herself* or in freudian terms *uses the defense mechanism of agression against the self*.
Tuesdays, as I say every tuesday, is the most annoying day of my week (at least for this semester). This doesn't have a lot to do with what I have to say, really. But since it's tuesday, I must say I don't like tuesdays.
Anyway...about Trent. I saw him twice before my lab started, at 2 o'clock. And then I saw him again. And again. And again. And once more. I must've seen him...eight times or so. I just kept bumping into him...by the way, by that time, I was still certain that he was Cel's boyfriend. And I didn't know if I should look up and say hi to him. He looks...unaproachable. I was a little afraid that he was the type of person that you meet but by the next day they don't remember you at all. I'm very sensitive when it comes to being ignored, big surprise.
Well, I was walking around the campus with Victoria, we were walking a friend some place. And on my way, I saw Veronica with her boyfriend. This is a tangent, but he looks like Elijah Wood. He's the size of a hobbit, too, kind of. And Veronica is not that tall either, so they look perfect for each other. Man, I hope this relationship works out for her. She looks happy.
Anyway, a few steps away, I saw Cel (Victoria went on with her friend, I stayed with Cel). I told her I'd seen *Trent's real name* and I asked her if he was his boyfriend or I was just confusing names. And that's when she told me that he was only a friend (Jesus, this girl must have "just add water" friends...she has lots, everywhere).
Another tangent: I gave her something I'd made for her the night before, a drawing of a 1967 John Lennon playing piano, dressed in black. I burned the sides with my lighter (no, I don't smoke) and I almost burned the entire drawing, silly untalented self.
I started to walk around with her, on my way to my classroom. And she was talking about Trent, what a cool boy he was and all. I was going to say hi to him today, but I was a little embarrased, I told her. And she told me: he told me he was looking for me yesterday, and he was going to ask you if you'd seen me, and he said he didn't because he was embarrased.
Like, dude. How typical.
He was at the cafeteria, and he literally leapt to us. Ok, I already described yesterday what he looks like: basically, a rock star. And I'd kind of formulated this idea that besides the hardcore attitude and the breathtaking looks, he wouldn't be so intellectual, which is one of the things I'd love to have in a person I was to fall in love with.
But oh, no. When he landed on his feet, he started to recite a poem. And not a corny poem. A good one. And he was moving around Cel while speaking. Quite a show.
And then he noticed me. And he twisted his body to shake my hand, and said "hello". I said "hello". And he asked me if I'd heard of Edgar Allan Poe. Duh. And he recited one of his poems, that has my name. Good, not only is he intellectual, but I actually feel inferior. I did not know the name of one of his poems is the name of my mortal self.
Then 1 caught up with us. Say it with me: aaaawwwkwaaaardneeeessss. But just between him and me. They started to talk about books (a very good one, by the way, by J.J. Benitez, Trojan Horse -or that's the translation from spanish, I don't know if it's another name in english-).
And we walked and walked until I stopped on my tracks, because I'd arrived to my classroom. I said this was my artery (sometimes people just flow in the hallways, like blood). And I kissed Cel goodbye, 1 said "it was nice seeing you again", and Trent twisted his arm again and said: pleasure listening to you speak. Huh, ok.
Well, so I started thinking: could it be possible that I like this guy? After all, it's may. I seem to have this dumb cycle of getting involved with someone in the middle of the year. The Guy? I met him in june. Denver? we started our "games" around june or july. 1? I met him in may. Trent? I met him yesterday. The third of may.
But I don't want anything to happen. With a pattern like that one, I know everything would be garbage. I already feel like garbage.
When I met 1 around this time last year I spent the night thinking he was the one (hence why I refered to him as 1 in this diary), with such intensity I couldn't believe that feeling. I was certain I would never feel that way again, nor I'd have the need to feel that way ever again (because "oh, I will love 1 forever"). And I also thought that feeling could never be topped off.
(for the record, that hunch of him being the one, lasted two weeks...it disappeared the same day we hooked up...lame, aren't I?)
As my life is turning and my world is passing by, I've discovered that actually that feeling I had the day I met 1 has been topped off by the feeling I have right now about Trent...not only he's the one, but he's everything (I am aware that this is very subjective, because I really don't know him deeply).
You know what the problem is? He's perfect, he's the stupid picture I have of an ideal guy, something I've always refused to have (freudian term: denial). He's got everything, every fuckin' thing I've seen in all the boys I've been romantically involved with. One boy had the looks, one boy had the attitude...but he has it all. And that's something I didn't think of when I was thinking "1 is the one", I didn't think "he's everything I want". I just felt chemistry between us (and like I said, when we hooked up, it disappeared).
And I'm not going to go any further, it's dangerous for my psyche.
- Cel: you know, *Trent* told me he and his friends had noticed you around.
- Me: pppfffft, ok.
- Cel: I swear.
- Me: well, he was one my crushes. But I'm in love with Freud now, however orthodox.
- Cel: he was one of your crushes? I think he likes you! (at this point of the conversation, the entry and the day, I am feeling disgustingly juvenile)
- Me: he doesn't.
- Cel: I'm not sure but I can feel it. I have some kind of sixth sense.
- Me: he's out of my reach.
- Cel: he's not out of your reach...you're out of his.
- Me: why?
- Cel: he's fucked up.