Is Mah Blog

Is just a blog. Whatever happens to spew from my mind at the time will wind up on this blog in one way or another.

I don't even know where to begin with this one. I guess I'll start with the Carnation Massacre.

For Valentine's Day, my school has this thing where you can buy carnations and have them sent to people. You could choose from four different colors, and they all have different meanings.

Red - Love

Pink - Crush

Yellow - Friendship

Purple - Mystery

I don't know how I got talked into it, but I sent a purple one to a guy in my homeroom, who shall remain anonymous for his sake and mine. I don't know why I even wanted to. I came up with reasons; maybe it was pity. He'd never gotten one before. Maybe I just wanted to see how he'd react. Maybe I just wanted to send someone a carnation, and he just came to mind. I don't know. But I did it. I didn't sign it, though (the carnation comes with a little slip of paper you can write a message on). I just wrote "Happy Valentine's Day" and sent it like that.

Valentine's Day rolled around and he got the carnation. I'd played over scenarios in my head, trying to come up with what the most logical reaction would be. I expected curiosity; I got rage. He was pissed. He demanded to know who it was. Nobody would tell him, so he simply blamed a kid in my homeroom who gets blamed for everything. Not because we hate him, but because...well, he's just so easy to pick on. He likes it, too. Most of it.

Anyway, the guy I sent the carnation to threw it at a friend of his, and stormed out of homeroom when the bell rang. The friend, who also happens to be a friend of mine, gave me the carnation. It was missing over half of its stem. I took it. Ironic as it was, I took it.

A couple weeks passed, and slowly but surely, I realized that I really liked the guy I sent that stupid flower to. So I started slipping letters into his locker. I don't think he ever bothered reading any of them. I didn't care at the time. But eventually that lost its glamour and I stopped doing that, too. They weren't getting me anywhere.

I brought it up to a friend of mine, Tina (she doesn't need to be anonymous. She plasters herself all over Myspace. I have no sympathy for her privacy, or lack thereof), and she told me that the only obvious explination was that I liked him. A lot. I didn't believe it, but two months later I realized she was right.

For the past two weeks, I'd been trying to think of a way to break it to him. I couldn't think of where to begin. I just figured I'd keep it to myself, anyway. I'd had crushes. I got over them. And then I moved on. It wasn't a big deal.

This one was, though. I couldn't get my mind off of him (I still can't), but not in the creepy stalker sense. I had a really weird dream with him in it. I was on a stage with him and his band, and he was playing, and I had to tell him something. I don't know what, but I had to tell him. He was describing a monster in his song, and the monster's shadow started appearing on the curtain that blocked off backstage. I got so scared that I threw myself into a panic attack. I kept trying to reach for his sleeve, to get his attention, but it seemed to get further and further everytime I reached for him. Finally, he sat me on the stage floor, and sat beside me, and finished his song. He was taking my episode so calmly that I started to cry. When the song ended, I woke up. I was shaking.

That was two days ago. Yesterday, on the way home from school, I had a revelation, and knew how I was going to tell him how I felt. I was such a nervous wreck, though. I took a two-hour walk to calm myself down at least a little. It didn't. I didn't sleep well last night, either.

Today wasn't any better. I don't think I've had anything decent to eat all week. I've been shaky and unattentive and basically a walking nerve. But I did it. I broke it to him on the way to sixth period. He said he was involved with someone else, and he was sorry. He took my confession as well as he took my breakdown in my dream. Is that odd?

I'm upset, of course. I don't think I've ever been this upset in my life. And you've probably read some of my previous blogs. I'm depressed every four minutes. But this feeling's kind of hollow. And I know I'll never be able to look at him again, or talk to him, without it being awkward. I can't help but feel like I'm a total idiot. Why did I have to make him think I liked him in a sense other than that of a friend? We never really spoke before, and now, instead of ever having a chance of being his friend, I've pretty much blown any chance I've ever had of speaking to him ever again. It sure feels like it, anyway.

Am I an idiot for telling him? I...I dunno. I've never been good at relationship stuff before. It sucks. My first big move toward a relationship, and I blow what could have at least been a friendship.

But then again, it's only high school. Should I even be bothered by it? People always tell me, "Dude, in a couple of years, you'll never see those people again." or "It's just hormones." Well...I don't care. It still sucks feeling like this. No matter how old you are.

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