2 O'Clock Jump

I look pretty damn good to women through rose' (read ROH-zay) colored glasses.  Call it a closing time charm.  I listen; I am everything every other guy is not.  I'm like them, but not like them, if I were to paraphrase a recent conversation, which, I suppose, I just did.  I get to be almost desired for a few hours.  Then, in the harsh, cold light of the next morning, I am back to being a candidate unworthy of romantic consideration - too this and not enough that.  Tender hearts and strong spirits do not mix well.

I get used.  I have a friend who was in a bind and needed to "borrow" (I have since learned to lend without the expectation of recompense) some money.  I took this person twice as much as they told me was needed.  The next day, that friend said they remembered they actually needed three times the amount of their original request.  I didn't throw bad money after good, and so I imagine I will not be high on that friend's list of concerns any longer.  This happens in family, too.  I actually got criticized, just this Monday, for not being in one place to be able to help my father, while I was out picking up dinner for him and Mom.  True story.  My family often tell me that I should not let my friends use me.  I feel like asking, "Why?  So you can do it first?".  Sometimes, I wonder if I'd get more respect and more romantic attention if I were to act like an indifferent ass.

I have been passed over for promotion twice in the last five years at work - both times to the choice of junior colleagues.  My boss just quit.  People are telling me that his boss said I will be named acting supervisor; no one asked or told me.  I'm tired of having my loyalty and services assumed.  Unfortunately, I want the job because I know I can do it better and more efficiently than I've seen it done.  Maybe success is the best revenge.

I recently had one of my closest friends tell me that more than one woman in our social circle thinks I would be a good catch - with a catch.  That catch - again - being if I were like me, but different.  I'm not.  This is it.  I am me.  Apparently, its not enough.

Rejection does not bother me; universal rejection does.  There are things women like about me, but the entirety of the package is unacceptable.  I'd almost prefer to be rejected flatly, than to be rejected by way of guised compliment.  Sorry, ladies, I take no comfort in being almost worthy of your affection; either, I am, or I'm not.  This is what gives rise to those dark feelings of depression and self-hatred, which seem to be coming home for the holidays.  That, in itself, has become a bit of a tradition. 

Please pass the cranberries and a bit of social indifference.  Why, thank you!

"No One Is To Blame", Howard Jones.