Three years in and everything is still the same. More tattoos, less fear but pretty much the same. Despite reconciliation with most of the people from home I’m lonelier than ever. Confidence gained, I spent last summer trying to meet people and make friends in the places I frequent. Opening myself up for the first time since the Scott debacle feels like pushing on a creaky barn door. Rough-hewn and slightly rotted, it’s harder to close completely every time I wrench it open again. Willingness to face rejection is the easy part. Familiar and warm like a threadbare blanket it’s better than nothing at all. Staying open to good possibilities is much harder. I don’t have much room in my life for something serious so it’s a long interview process. The more I get to know someone worthwhile the more I anticipate the fall.

If my affection could produce confetti, he would get me banned from public places. Passion bursting like fireworks in the corners of my brain, I’m forced to hold my self at bay while he peddles in social politics. Even if I pledged myself to his well-being I’d be received as no more than an annoyance. It’s well documented how unlikable I am even when my feelings are honest. I love getting to know interesting people and forming genuine connections but I don’t want to play pretend. I don’t have anything to hide. As life goes, I probably dodged a bullet not aimed at me. Still, I saw something worth trying for and I think I’m better for the attempt. At least I have a good reason to stop spending money in Fremont. Everybody wins!

I knew if things went south I’m not hanging out at Add-A-Ball anymore. Short, impromptu visits are all that’s left to me now. Much like a family gathering, get there early and leave when it’s difficult to find a seat. I can imagine him standing around with his friends regaling them with tales of my craziness. Maybe even sharing the messages I keep sending as part of the humongous joke he’s pulled off. I know that’s just narcissistic speculation on my part but if anyone appreciates boldface narcissism it’s this guy. It’s one of the things I like most about him. Unapologetically full of himself, there’s a real person there doing his best to optimize this shitstorm called life. I appreciate the evidence of struggle and the ease with which he deflects what fate throws. I miss kissing kissing his neck underneath the beard.

I keep trying to ignore the obvious and persevere in the face of decrepitude. Compelled to say the things no one else will, I’d rather be a loner than shallow. To some people’s delight I operate more like a tool, not always aware why stating the obvious is upsetting. Regardless, I’ve accepted my true nature including the tenuous connection with reality. It seems likely I’ll be alone forever. The fate of a troll. More commonly recognized on the internet where we can express ourselves with comfortable distance and anonymity, I’m a follower of the old ways. Trolling can only truly happen face-to-face when someone is listening to what you say. It’s not necessarily malicious even if harsh. The truth is as unforgiving as first impressions and our only saving grace is consistency. The difference between a bitch and a troll is whether she’s after something.