Saturday, September 17, 2011

Prick.

I read once that in the winter, porcupines are faced with a conundrum:
they can either embrace the chilling temperatures or cozy up to a fellow porcupine.

As you can imagine, porcupines can only take being impaled by one another's quills for so long before each respectively says to himself, "Fuck this," and goes off to brave the winter's cold alone.

 Often times, though, they return to their snuggle buddy (or a new one) to try again, only to fall back into the same pattern of self-perpetuating destruction. Or whatever. I may have embellished that last part.

The point being, I liken myself to the porcupine.
-->& not just because we both have crazy hair.
But because I have a tendency to shun that which could actually be good for me and opt, always instead, to try to go it alone.
Case in point, in 24 years, I've dated TWO men who have actually treated me right. The first of which, regrettably, never really matured into much until the opportunity had casually and calmly slipped away and moved itself to North Carolina. I chose, instead, to spend two years in a relationship where I was basically alone but still savoring that independence and the comfortable distance it afforded me.

I'd like to think I can attribute this baleful behavior to the fact that I am afraid of pricks (which was both a pun on this porcupine thing I'm working on and also prick as in douchebags...but not literal douchebags. semantics). Do I crave to be near not just someone, but moreover, someone like me? Yes. But in metaphorical terms, I can't because of this inane fear of being hurt.

& let me tell you, my fear of needles has pushed me to implausible heights: for example telling someone with the best intentions, "Stop being so nice to me; Stop kissing me so much; You don't have to call me everyday," not to mention, this fear has prompted me in the past to switch birth controls. But I'm getting off topic.

& so I prompt another porcupine to say to himself, "Fuck this," by my own will only to find later that I miss his warmth and to stare into the face of the fact that I will most likely die alone buried under four feet of snow after getting frozen onto a log I didn't know was wet while searching for berries.

This got depressing fast.



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