Why are humans incapable of discussing emotion?
...Or perhaps it's just me? Either way, the story goes around and around like a circle and now I'm back to the beginning. Tao has removed himself on a month-long vacation to China to see his friends and family, and even with him on the other side of the planet, he still finds a way to get in contact with me. Here I was, sitting at my computer working on a lesson for tomorrow and my phone rings. This insanely long number shows up on the caller ID and my first thought was "...China..." and him. The purpose of the call? There wasn't any. Instead there was awkward chit chat for a minute followed by a IM from him on MSN. What might it have said? He's hounding me to work out again. He pulled this crap last spring because he doesn't like how I'm so thin. What I don't understand is if he doesn't like it, why does he continue to want to see me? There are two things wrong with this plea: a) I will not change myself or do something I do not want to for another person, and b) I absolutely abhor working out. I take no pleasure from it and I reap no satisfaction either.
All I know is the fire is being stirred up again and I'm not sure how I feel.
Then there was last night, where I went over UPenn Guy's apartment late at night to watch some TV because we were both "bored." There seemed to be an underlying pretense for me going over, but nothing materialized, until we both fell asleep watching some mindless late night TV show. I guess that's what happens when his couch is his bed, but then again I'm not sure what it was that allowed myself to stay over so late when I knew I had to wake up early for work. I ended up staying over and left when my alarm went off at 6AM. The worst part wasn't even the "walk of shame" back to my apartment (four blocks) but the questioning feeling of what it was? Of course there was no talk about it by either of us today, and while I know nothing will probably come of it, I can't help but glance at my phone every so often. I hate how humans are seemingly incapable of putting something out there; although I am as guilty of this as anyone...
Am I twenty-five yet?