I found this scribbled in an old notebook. There’s no date on it, but, if I had to guess, I wrote it three or four years ago. I think (but I’m not certain) I wrote it about a woman in a bar with whom I had flirted once or twice previously.
Omnipotent, narcissistic fantasy
- She should want me and only me.
- If she wants others, it diminishes me.
- It reflects poorly on her that, in my presence, she doesn’t drop everything for me.
- It reflects poorly on the men surrounding her that they’re trying to seduce/win/take advantage of her.
- If I were to seduce her, it would reflect well on each of us. On both of us.
It’s fucking crazy.
I don’t matter to her. She doesn’t matter to me. Not in a malevolent way – just in an honest appraisal of our respective roles in one another’s lives. I know this. We each represent a bit of compelling fun to the other.
In a best-case scenario, honestly, it’s a lot of compelling fun. But still – it’s just fun.
Likely time-limited. With the fun stacked at the front end.
Nothing wrong with that. It’s fun.
But somehow, the drama I’m playing out in my mind is much higher stakes.