Spare me the flood, of "oh Katie you're beautiful and fun. blah, blah blah" I say this in a most scientific way.
Please don't feel sorry for me, I don't.
I am simply dissecting my experience.
I don't for example, understand make-up, flirting and sex appeal. I think the whole game, is utter bull shit. I think if someone is interested in you, they would be, even without water-proof mascara, coquette, or things of that nature.
Here, though, is what I do understand. I wonder often if I was born without something. Deficient at birth.
I say this because, being the anxious, perpetual over-thinker I am, I look for sequence in even un-connected things, maybe things which are only connected by the fact, that they occurred.
One pattern, which fixates me completely and shouldn't, men, and the absolute repulsion I provoke in them.
To explain this, or at least, to put it into context, I will return to August 1986.
I should mention, since that is such a long time ago, that I recently had my astrological chart done. There was a mention of Pluto, and of all I learned of him, most of it was scary but explained much. Not letting go of things for one, and hoarding. I can't claim to hoard gold, but emotions, definitely.
My father was, for the most part, gone. I would see him on rare occasions, and definitely, I feel that I am still looking for him, and he is still unattainable.
Almost 30, I should probably let that one go.
But I don't. I hold on and hoard on.
Most days, I feel like my heart is a shell, hallow, whistling melancholy but singing all the same, as if though there is still reason to sing. Though each man I've let inside that space, has reminded me, why I must seek to decipher the sequence. Maybe they caught on to what my dad did. Saw something deficient and decided to leave, or in many cases, not to even venture in.
Earlier, I was listening to the Weeknd, trying to fold myself inside his sound, the sensuality of it, the words; dripping sex. Nope.
Maybe I gave up my own attraction, and therefore radiate nothing.