“I used to dress up all the time when we first started dating,” I told [Supergirl] once. “But I guess now that I’m comfortable around you, I dress more and more like a slob. I think it’s your fault for making it too easy for me.”
“Well…” she smiled, “when we first started dating I used to wear a lot more makeup.”
“Oh really? Well, you look better without makeup,” I said. “I mean, not that you don’t look beautiful with makeup too. But, like. You don’t need to. Because you look great without it. But if you did wear it, you’d look better so it wouldn’t be wasted effort, y’know?”
“Flatterer,” she tells me.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“You’ll make me all big headed.”
“It’s just so I’ll feel like less of an asshole all alone here at the top,” I laugh.
We’re silent for a few moments. “I started wearing less and less of it though,” she explained. “I mean, it’s annoying. But I figure, he’ll have to get used to me without it, so I’ll just wear less and less of it. I don’t feel I need to wear it for you”
And it’s true that I don’t need her to wear any of that stuff. I am not saying this facetiously, or superficially, or in any blinded way. In a very intellectual, calm and unclouded judgement, she’s beautiful to me. I don’t need to explain it because there’s nothing to explain, and if I leave it at that that’s because that’s all I need to say.
I’m sitting in my living room as I write this. It’s one of those bachelor kinda days– my roomies, [Terminator] and [SoCool] are both in and awake, and I’m typing away as I eat a meal of cold rice, vegetables and kimchi. At the same time, they’re playing Tiger Woods on the Xbox, trash talking eachother the whole way. Even Zoe, Zack’s cat, is sitting around just taking it easy.
It’s times like this that I appreciate having people in the apartment. It’s a slowish day, and I’m supposed to be sleeping as we speak since I was working overnight yesterday and will be again tonight. But meh. Sometimes it feel just nice to hang around with people, even if it’s to do nothing and talk about nothings.
I’m too tired lately to really do any meaningful posting.
It’s tough keeping up the habit of trying to write at least once a day. It’s not so much that there’s nothing to talk about– there always is– but I just get tired of it sometimes, you know? At a certain point it feels like work.
I suppose it is, in a sense. I’m not necessarily keeping a blog out of the craft of writing itself, it’s more because I want to remember things. What’s the point of living and all that if not for experiences, and what’s the point of an experience if you forget it as easily as I do?
Then someday when I’m feeling less myself, I can hide away in my own words.