Please Do Not Go - The Violent Femmes

Hello lovers!

Earlier this year, I introduced the word "masochist" into my vocabulary. For those of you who don't know, a masochist is one who continues to do an action, knowing that harm will come to them if they do. Think of it this way: a fly, attracted by light, and aware of the dangers, flies into it, only to be killed.

Yes, this is how I see myself: as a masochist.

I shall explain.

Last year, I started a flirtationship with a shitty barista named Johnny. Yes, Johnny was potential "OMG! He's so awesome!" guy. The fact of the matter was that he's just a deuche. It took me forever (and by forever, I mean over 1/2 a year!) to learn this. It took many a trips to Starbucks to learn that he is like any other guy who I've ever thought of as an "OMG! He's so awesome!". To be honest, I want to say I knew this from the start. After all, I am attracted to asses. But he was so nice, and caring. He listened when I had a complain, and tried to turn me to tea, to help cure the flu that I had. What a gentleman! And, the sweetest thing about him, was that there were many times in which he didn't charge me. Plus, there was the flirting. I'm my eyes, he appeared to good to be true.

And, 1/2 a year later, after many texts, a couple of drunken calls, and so many tears later, I am older, somewhat wiser (when it comes to him). (In general, I should admit that I'm really none the wiser.)

Because I am a masochist, I shall admit that even after everything he put me thru, I still feel some semblance of what I once felt for him. And I should also say that I still visit that Starbucks. Every once in a while, I get into the mood and decide I want Starbucks. And since a while ago, he somewhat told me his schedule, I know when to go. But here's the thing: I don't say much to him. As much as it kills me, and it does, I play aloof to everything about him. I don't make contact.

Now, what the fuck is wrong with me? I go to a Starbucks to see a guy, that when I do see him, completely ignore him, only to pay $5 for a drink that will give me diarrhea?

You see, this is why I call myself a masochist.

And I'm not the only one. I hear that my niece, my lovely little hell-raiser niece, who's not even two years old is also a masochist. There is this friend of her father that she is not fond of whatsoever. In fact, whenever she sees him, she breaks down and cries. There are times that she climbs the couch to see her father with his friend and begins to cry. She does this of her own free will. Even though she will leave the couch for a minute, she returns and breaks down again. And may I just say that my niece is not at all stupid. She is much smarter than some of the adults in the Southern Bible Belt. But she continues to do this: willing to cry in order to see her father. Why? Because she is a masochist.

I'd like someone to prove me wrong here. I would love it if someone gave me an example of how I am so wrong and should stop writing. The thing is, this is never going to happen. The more you examine your lives, I know you will find examples of your masochism.

My god, isn't it tragic?

And glamorous?

Will you ever stop?

I thought so.

Yes, you and I are more alike than you thought.

My god, aren't we all just great big masochists?