"You can't give yourself absolutely to someone else" --Lisa Loeb

So, there's this guy who likes me. I mean, really likes me, and it's all wrong. He asked me yesterday if I thought I might be falling in love with him. I barely know this person, and that set off all of my alarms. The last thing I need right now is to play the White Knight for another fucked-up co-dependant person who thinks I'm some sort of marble saint, that was one of the main problems in my last relationship. I told him no, that I didn't know him well enough. What I didn't tell him was that I'd most likely never be in love with him. I mean, let's be honest, I never really loved Sean, although I felt compelled to try and save him, and I stuck around much longer than I should have trying to make things right. I've always wanted to rush in and rescue people in pain, but I've learned that I end up just making a bigger mess of things. I think I shouldn't pretend with this guy and tell him that I don't think we should date.

I tried to dissuade him from persuing me, I know he probbaly put me on some sort of pedastal (when you're nice to extremely lonely people, they sometimes do that.. we sometimes do that); I pointed out that I had many flaws ("I am indifferent honest, yet I could accuse me of such sins that I had better not been born"), I pointed out my arrogance, my snobbishness, my temper, my hypersensitivity, my tendancies towards melancholy. These were all valid flaws, but he thought I was just being modest, and I inadvertantly made him become even more enchanted. The weird thing is, this guy has slept with Sean, you'd think he'd have something horrible to say about me. He keeps talking about this "connection", and I keep thinking, "what connection"? I zone out when he talks, he goes on and on about some trvial thing and I make polite noises while I think of something else. But he thinks there's some spiritual bond. I get the sneaking suspicion that he'd think there was some spiritual bond with anyone who kind to him. I'm going to have to tell him that I don't think we should see each other on any romantic level (not that we have been, except in my mind). It just won't be easy for me, I hate to hurt anyone, but in the long run, it's better for us both.

There are too many people at my house. Three people are vying for one computer. I can barely read e-mail without Marc looking over my shoulder asking if I'm finished yet. Most of the evening, I barricaded myself in my room and listened to Ani Difranco on repeat and scribbled down random thoughts and poem fragments on college-ruled paper. My mother and Marc did stuff with the computer and Marc watched inane sitcoms with laugh-tracks and trite stories. The lights are on here all the time, and there's too much noise. I miss my dark and quiet. I can't think well in a pool of light.