The Thrill of the Chase

Taking the hand of a blog was a nice idea, but the audience's identity is too small for an echoless chamber, and too big for inhibitionless echos. Yes, I'm too afraid to discover myself without the hand of another.

In tmo's blog, the other characters are his own projects, hobbies and company. It's probably a maturity thing that I'm less concerned with backpacking, and more with getting laid. But I'd love to go backpacking, I just need someone to hand me a backpack and send me out on my way. In the Greenwich meantime, I've been trying online dating. I feel as if I've no choice but to place a large amount of faith in tinder. If there was any pride left in this blog, it will now slowly edge away, as I explore the cause of my romantic troubles. The following extract is taken from my teenage days, back when I was 23.

It's pleasing for me to think about the awkward fireworks of mutual attraction. Offline sparks seem somewhat abstract in the spaces where my life is playing out. Places of monotonous adulthood don't foster emotional liberation like playgrounds or smoking areas do. It's no wonder then, that I take comfort in an app which has all the lust of a club, but less self-consciousness. Romance is on the line unless I'm online.

Problem 1: I can't smile. I'm not ugly. However, I'm also not tall, jawlined or nearly as edgy as I want to be. I'm not photogenic either; I've been told I look better in person. This isn't ideal, given the importance my appearance probably holds at the time of judgement. I try not to overthink the inevitable and numerous preconceptions to grace my face. I'm too busy being physically attracted to about 50% of girls my age. Sadly, the number who fancy me from that population is small, or so the evidence leads me to believe. I'm left with a small matchbox.

Problem 2: Patriarchy. In theory, what should ensue is a love story starting from a strong base of mutual attraction. However, I can never remember which pocket I left my lighter in and anyway, girls only respond to messages they want to be hearing. In attempts to satisfy their tricky demand, I can either be myself (blunt and self-effacing) or concede exclamation marks, spoon-feeding them emojis until orgasm. Surprisingly, neither approach works. The first because my personality is as charismatic as stone, and the second because ingenuity doesn't come naturally to me 😇😇😇.

Problem 3: I want to be loved. Things can only get bitter, right? It's rare both parties are present and interested to the point when a conversation is achieved. However if it does happen, she will deviate from being tolerable and/or I will curtail myself until replying becomes a chore. Round my waist there's a clunky metaphor, I think. I'm not sure if it's a chastity belt or CHASEtity belt, such is my fear of running after the girls I like. I need to be chased more than I want to chase. This results in something nobody wants.