What is it about me that is so terrible? Groups of more than three people tend to reject me outright. When I try to open up and be vulnerable I’m inevitably met with skepticism and/or scorn. My desire to make connections is palpable and the people that spend time with me are primarily motivated by boredom or some twisted idea of charity. I want to believe I’m fun and kind despite my hard exterior. This turtle has never tried to hurt anyone. I want to think there are at least one or two people left in the world interested in getting to know me. I want more evenings on the couch cuddled under the arm of someone whose body fits perfectly against mine. I want another chance to wake someone up by scratching their back first thing in the morning. I want to feel connected to someone even when they aren’t next to me. Is that still possible?

Yesterday, I tried to go to a party I thought I would enjoy. I had to leave after 45 minutes. Less than six months ago I was eagerly writing a concept piece for the theme itself. Back then I thought the people involved were friends. I took for granted that the primary person fueling my interest wasn’t using me to further his own agenda. Naturally I was a naive simpleton, swept up in something that seemed too good to be true. Still not quite sure why I was discarded, my assumptions lean toward shallowness and miscommunication. I try to remember that it’s not personal. I’m not a main character in the story and my trysts with normal humans are where punchlines come from. Watching from the wall I lack the energy to climb down and frequently consider how long the fall would take.

I can’t explain why I love pinball so much. My only defense is that it’s an addiction and I’m completely hooked. The people in the game that keep stealing my heart are all good players but that’s not what I’m drawn to. It’s the way they play, an engagement with the machine that reveals the love I feel too. An appreciation most people reserve for fancy meals or jewelry, gamers of all ilk know that fire in the eye. The romantic in me craves passion, to my fault. Rare and fleeting, I keep chasing the ideal even though reality consistently disappoints. I know I’m not good enough and wish I could stop putting myself out there. But that would be like trying to stop playing pinball. The honest solution is to run away, find a new place to be alone. Alone among strangers is much nicer than being ignored by a crowd of acquaintances.  I can always get that on Facebook if I need it.

I’d prefer to evaporate in a flurry of smoke and butterflies but that’s just silly. Hopefully I’ll eventually grow the hell up and buy a gun. Not existing anymore would free up space for someone better to come along.