| Author: | Robert Scott Leyse | ISBN: | 9781311215246 |
| Publisher: | Robert Scott Leyse | Publication: | April 9, 2016 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Robert Scott Leyse |
| ISBN: | 9781311215246 |
| Publisher: | Robert Scott Leyse |
| Publication: | April 9, 2016 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
Here are the first two paragraphs of the tale:
From: Justin
To: Angie, Ella, Steven
Sent: Sunday, May 19, 2013 3:49 PM
Angie, Ella, Steve,
I ask for your indulgence again: more of my usual complaining’s going to follow—more bitching about my apparent inability to bring home one girl in Manhattan who’s content with being safe and predictable, happy to simply be happy. There has to be a few of them out there—I’m fairly certain they actually exist—but do I ever get involved with them? Such delight continues to elude me! The only girls I get involved with are strife-sowing crazies who can’t stand it unless there’s a disturbing dose of conflict in the picture! What do I really want? Do I even know? I think I want emotional quietude in relationships, but the minxes I get mixed up with make a mockery of such thinking—flatly contradict what I’d like to believe I’m looking for in a female! Maybe I secretly want the friction? I can’t help but bring the proverb to mind: being known by the company one keeps. If I’m drawn to lunatical wildcats, then perhaps it’s an indication all’s not balanced within myself and that, God forbid, I have far more in common with them than I care to admit. But if that’s the case, then why do I get authentically upset after misreading a girl again, lacerate my soul with speculations as to whether I happen to be sane? No, I refuse to believe I want to go on one emotional roller coaster torture ride after another! What’s the point of spending the night with girls who quickly spin out of control, bring on panic and chaos, make a mockery of the concept of Home Sweet Home?
Right, you’ve heard it all before. So why am I bothering to write of my girl-fiascoes again, resume cursing the hand fate continues to deal me? Perhaps in an effort to comprehend my predicament, ascertain what makes me tick, determine what my true proclivities are? Perhaps so as to relive my latest misadventure and, in so doing, better arm myself against future ones? Perhaps in order to simply fling my arms up in surrender and laugh, dissipate some tension? It is funny, in a twisted way: if some other sorry individual was yearning for peaceable girls and only getting entangled with maniacs I’m sure I’d be laughing. At any rate, it’s Thursday evening (I’m taking tomorrow off, so I can have two three-day weekends in a row) and, instead of seeing the girl described below again, I’m alone at home—enjoying heavenly privacy and tranquility, planning on having it remain thus for the entire weekend. At least in writing of our first, and last, entanglement (the glorious event occurred last Friday) I have a safe means of passing the time, as opposed to allowing her, or some other mayhem-infatuated nutcase, to drag me into her demon-populated world.
Here are the first two paragraphs of the tale:
From: Justin
To: Angie, Ella, Steven
Sent: Sunday, May 19, 2013 3:49 PM
Angie, Ella, Steve,
I ask for your indulgence again: more of my usual complaining’s going to follow—more bitching about my apparent inability to bring home one girl in Manhattan who’s content with being safe and predictable, happy to simply be happy. There has to be a few of them out there—I’m fairly certain they actually exist—but do I ever get involved with them? Such delight continues to elude me! The only girls I get involved with are strife-sowing crazies who can’t stand it unless there’s a disturbing dose of conflict in the picture! What do I really want? Do I even know? I think I want emotional quietude in relationships, but the minxes I get mixed up with make a mockery of such thinking—flatly contradict what I’d like to believe I’m looking for in a female! Maybe I secretly want the friction? I can’t help but bring the proverb to mind: being known by the company one keeps. If I’m drawn to lunatical wildcats, then perhaps it’s an indication all’s not balanced within myself and that, God forbid, I have far more in common with them than I care to admit. But if that’s the case, then why do I get authentically upset after misreading a girl again, lacerate my soul with speculations as to whether I happen to be sane? No, I refuse to believe I want to go on one emotional roller coaster torture ride after another! What’s the point of spending the night with girls who quickly spin out of control, bring on panic and chaos, make a mockery of the concept of Home Sweet Home?
Right, you’ve heard it all before. So why am I bothering to write of my girl-fiascoes again, resume cursing the hand fate continues to deal me? Perhaps in an effort to comprehend my predicament, ascertain what makes me tick, determine what my true proclivities are? Perhaps so as to relive my latest misadventure and, in so doing, better arm myself against future ones? Perhaps in order to simply fling my arms up in surrender and laugh, dissipate some tension? It is funny, in a twisted way: if some other sorry individual was yearning for peaceable girls and only getting entangled with maniacs I’m sure I’d be laughing. At any rate, it’s Thursday evening (I’m taking tomorrow off, so I can have two three-day weekends in a row) and, instead of seeing the girl described below again, I’m alone at home—enjoying heavenly privacy and tranquility, planning on having it remain thus for the entire weekend. At least in writing of our first, and last, entanglement (the glorious event occurred last Friday) I have a safe means of passing the time, as opposed to allowing her, or some other mayhem-infatuated nutcase, to drag me into her demon-populated world.
