November 1, 2016


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“We’re more alike than I thought.”

Probably not, but I was too drunk to worry about the validity of the statement and too fixated on the idea of mitigating the inevitable wave of despair that I associate with falling back into sobriety.

We lay there for a little while longer and chatted about pretty much everything , except for what was on our minds.

Kant said that it was wrong to use someone as a means to an end, but I don’t really enjoy sex that much so I wasn’t too worried. James 1:15 briefly popped into my mind, but I’ve done worse so again I wasn’t too worried.

I woke up early the next morning; we exchanged a hopeless ‘later’ and I began my long walk back to Cascadilla. The walk back was like staring in the mirror,  desperately grasping for a hint of beauty in a truly ugly situation.

Before I came to college I was a mad romantic. I was in love, like the passage about the narrator’s first love from Things They Carried. That ‘melt into her bones; die and live inside her head’ kind of love. And it happened not just once, but twice. Then again.

I did manage to scrounge up a bit of peace on that stroll. A hot shower waited for me back at the dorms and besides, 4:00 AM is my favorite time of the day. No people, no social anxiety, just me, a chorus of birds and crippling guilt over all of the relationships I fucked up.

An old friend called me on my shit a few of weeks ago, joked about how some people can’t deal with being single. Joked about how I was always chasing a high. I plead guilty. They say physical relationships tend to affect the same neural receptors as cocaine.

It might not seem like it but I’m still a genuine romantic and a genuine optimist. I’m just trying to cope with dating scene at Cornell. I don’t like being super casual and I don’t like the idea of sex first, relationship later. I’ll still keep dreaming about meeting someone I can’t stand the idea of not being around.