20nothing.com

I carry around my notebook to every place I go to. It isn’t unusual to see me sitting at a bar, scribbling observations on a dog-chewed collection of papers. I call those days “weekdays”. And, sometimes, “weekends”. I pen thoughts, instances and, with increasing frequency, ridiculously stupid things that people say.
“People fall in love with me the moment they meet me,” I recently overheard. “But then it always fizzles out.”
By way of a venn diagram, I tried to work out why this strange person to my right was saying something so wrong. I concluded that getting to know a person who believes such an absurd reality is, probably, the reason the love fades. But I could be wrong. Maybe he just smells. Or is really bad in bed. Or everything is, simply, based on perception.

People who no longer love us are some of the most fascinating people on the planet. I was recently driving with my ex-boyfriend when he grabbed my notebook and started flicking through it. I almost crashed into the Chanel store on Rodeo Drive trying to stop him from sighting a single letter. Not, ideally, they way I want to introduce myself to designer handbags.
“Don’t read that!” I screamed. Considering I broadcast my writing to every man and his friend I have slept with, the panicked reaction was somewhat startling to the man who doesn’t love me anymore.
“Why not?” He waved my notebook around like it was a flag. A flag that displayed a list of every person I have ever slept with on page seven. In chronological order. Complete with an intricate rating system.
“It’s just…it’s nothing…it’s unfinished work…it’s…fuck…your name is too early on that list for you to read it.”
Earlier I had told Him that I am not as promiscuous as I make myself out to be.
“A greater lie has never been told,” I discussed later with LA Girl Friend. “I actually said the words, ‘I Rarely Have Sex’.”
“Why would you say that?”
I opened my notebook, pursued the aforementioned list and then proceeded to scribe an answer. The truth, which is so much easier to articulate in tangible words, was that I didn’t want to destroy His perception of me. Him knowing the real me is something someone who discarded the real me just cannot know.

Everyone thinks that they are pretty amazing. Even in our greatest moments of doubt, we find some shining glory to justify our existence.
“I can accessorize with effortless creativity,” I have sniffled in between tears as I fall asleep. “And I know how to pre-set a DVR.”
It is interesting to wonder if We really are as amazing as we think we are. Or if We really are as disappointing as we think we are. Perception, which is either validated or opposed depending on whose company we are keeping, creates a conundrum when trying to define Who we actually are. But it is an important problem to solve. The greatest gift one can give another person is knowing Who you are at that very moment in time. Getting an honest answer from oneself just takes more than the average venn diagram, a paragraph of thoughts or a list of random names that make up a sexual history.
Whose perception is believable? We are the first to lie to ourselves but other people come a close second. Both science and philosophy have pondered the enormous relevance of such a concept for thousands of years. But until anyone can actually answer if human beings all see the same color blue, how can anyone know if they are seeing the same version of Me? Because there is the person I am. There is the person I want to be. And there is the person I show to other people. They all co-exist side by side and any normal person battles with the same obstacle. It is only if the three sides start speaking to each other that medical practitioners really need to be alerted.

My ex-boyfriend told me that He knows who I am. Considering that he doesn’t want me in his life full-time, I had to wonder what his perception laced with certainty actually was.
“You haven’t changed,” he said.
If there is ever a time to stick your head in an oven…
“You will always be the same person I was in love with.”
His premise was that he had changed (“I was in love with”) but I was incapable of doing so (“You will always be the same person”). Which, if nothing else, sucks major balls and leads to a very redundant observation. I think I have changed (hope. Hope I have changed) but if other people perceive me to be twenty-one…Hell, what’s the problem?
The perceptions from the people we have loved and who have loved us shape our perception of ourselves. Fear to involve ourselves with other people stems from this as, just like a venn diagram, hurt and rejection connects everything. Whether it is a positive or a negative, however, is the perceptible choice one must make for themselves.

After leaving a bar on a weekday, I faced the prospect of welcoming my weekend from the front stoop of my West Hollywood house. Forgetting my keys meant that I was going to wake up covered in glitter and sparkles, or whatever other decorations could be stereotypically left in a gay mans wake. My ex-boyfriend came to the rescue and let me sleep in his bed. With no option to add to the list, I accepted his offer. And fell asleep wondering if anyone could change eventually so that the love never fizzled out.