The first meeting was actually pretty bearable. The Slouch just sort of slouched in on herself as usual and to be honest with you I kind of forgot she was even there, so that was fine in the end. At any rate she never really bothered me much herself, it was more a few unsolicited revelations about her that put me off being able to look at her. A while back I was having dinner at my friend Il Cavaliere's place (whose nickname pretty much sums up that he's probably the most lechy lasciv in the universe) and The Slouch came up in conversation for some reason and he, literally without provocation, said to me "she gives really good head". It is all I can do to hold in the chunder every time I've seen her since.
Anyway, even if she hadn't decided to blend in with the couch, my disdain for her would probably have been eclipsed by Pointless anyway. She just makes me mad. It's like, a few weeks ago I might've imagined that she'd be spending this much time around me as a joke but then it ACTUALLY HAPPENED. She's just such a fucking try-hard. It mightn't be so bad if she would just accept her role in the world and be done with it but she tries to fight the pointlessness in such a pointless way. When I see her I just want to drop-kick her over the rugby pitch or something. Then maybe she'd score a point or something. That joke's probably not funny because I don't understand the rules of rugby but whatever.
I met up with Svenska today; she came over from Edinburgh. I'd forgotten how radiant she was. She's like a freaking comic book character. Like you'd think there's no way on Earth that you'd ever find a beautiful, blonde Swedish girl with a body that would put Adriana Lima's to shame who also happens to be hilarious and genius-level smart. I love that girl. I actually used to have a crush on her, way-back-when, before she started going out with Aladdin (one of my friends from school who's Arab, not Indian, but whatever) but that was so long ago I don't even really remember. I've been all about the boys for ages, well, apart from a brief stint last year but that's a whole other tale of unrequited love for a whole other day.
Pratchett swept me off my feet on Friday, sort of. I dubbed him Pratchett pretty much from day one because we've literally never been able to schedule anything at ALL without him flaking by either changing plan, cancelling or being late. Sometimes he just forgets things entirely, so I've kind of come to just never expect anything, our dates mainly happen on the couch in his living room after the day has been and gone and we never really go out or do anything. He's always mentioning how he really wants to take me out to this and that other restaurant, to show me places around Dublin, to take me to Galway, to the zoo...etc. but nothing ever happens. He's all ideas and no action really, which I guess I could be frustrated by, but what's the point? It's just a facet of his personality that I've grown used to, and so now I just zone out if he starts talking about anything that requires any sort of plan at all. So what happened wasn't really anything big but it was for him, if you know what I mean? I was just sort of sitting up in the litsoc library reading Mr Elton making violent love to Emma and he came up all cute in his woolly jumper and said "we're going for cocktails". And OK, OK I'll admit it was 4 in the afternoon and I had tonnes of work to do but I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth so I just let him carry me off. He took me to the exchequer and we drank cocktails, then we (classy as we are) went and bought a load of kopparbergs and danced around the streets before eventually retiring to his to smoke some weed and have some sex. It was nice. Although it did make me late for an event (despite the fact that I told him I had to be there an hour before I actually did) it was probably worth it.
There's something not right though. Actually looking back on that paragraph it's kind of obvious what the problem is. "It was nice", because yeah, it was. "it was probably worth it" But it wasn't particularly special at all. That's the depressing thing about our relationship really. That all the cogs are in the right place and the clock is ticking but the second hand still seems to be a few strokes out. There's just something not quite right about us and I can't put my finger on it. He's good looking. He's cool. He knows lots of people. He's funny. He's useful. We have fun. He likes me. I guess it's just that I don't like him. We can't choose these things I suppose. I just wish that there was someone who I /did/ like, so I'd have a reason to end it with Pratchett and someone to direct all my romantic ideas towards. I imagine it will all work itself out eventually, but for the meantime so long as no one's getting hurt, I might as well just go for the ride, right?
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