The Women.

Banal observation time. Today, the weather is perhaps too beautiful. Crisp enough to make walking outside feel exciting, but the sun is still shining, compounding my regret that I am currently in a basement office writing a paper, and that I won't be finished with class for another four and a half hours. I can't wait until my schedule isn't so campus-oriented; today would be perfect for drinking coffee and reading on the balcony.
This reminds me that, as soon as I get paid, I can perhaps finally attempt to grow a few delicious things out on that little space. Tomatoes and basil seem easy enough, as long as I can convince the roommate to stop feeding squirrels until the weather gets cold again. I don't find those little fuckers nearly as cute as she does; definitely not cute enough to forfeit the possibility of delicious fresh tomatoes.
I would like some chemist to find a way to reproduce the scent a tomato stem has right after you've pulled the fruit off of the vine...it could be my "signature scent". Right now, I smell like skin, and maybe a little tinge of soap.

Non-banal observations next. I've been thinking and talking a good bit the last few days about women and being "emotional", or as our society has deemed it, "being a crazy bitch". In general, I think we've come about three or four feet forward since the days of being diagnosed with hysteria, although the language of the discussion has changed. Women, during relationships with men (especially while beginning them), are all I think afraid of coming off as "crazy"; ie, too attached, too interested, too irrational, too emotional. Controlling these emotions becomes an obsession, and while the object of our affection might be spared from experiencing how we "really" feel, the internalized debate over what can and can't be said/done/etc is definitely something of a hazard to the woman herself -- not to mention all her friends who have to hear about it endlessly. All the non-crushing have to step in as a sort of judicial panel: "Yes, it's okay to call him now." "No, I don't think that's a weird reaction to have." "No, don't text him once until he texts you twice." And so on, so on, so on...

But to what end? Looking back, I don't think I've ever regretted not "controlling" myself more. In general, exercising restraint has resulted in a sort of prolonging of an inevitable rupture; for instance, getting upset about not hearing from someone often results in trying to "keep cool", suppressing the feelings, and waiting it out. But that has never worked out in my favor. Sure, other girls will say that I did the right thing, but in the end, all it means is waiting an extra week or so before figuring out that Boy X is acting like a dickhead, that nothing I can do is going to fix said dickheadedness, and that I stressed myself out needlessly for said week instead of getting started on moving on.

And the few times I've just done crazy shit (punching that guy), I've never felt a moment's regret about it (except wishing that I could punch better). Why hold back the tears and the yelling and whatever else? Those are your emotions, man, get them out. Repressing them will just end up either a) putting you in therapy, or b) making you into an emotionally fucked-up asshole. Who I will then date? Yeah, probably that's the next step in that progression.

I'd go on, but someone gave me a liter of free diet coke, and I now have to pee out all that fucking aspartame...