"Count Me Down…"-Yeah Yeah Yeahs

She looked down and finger-brushed her top, "I spilled my drink."

"I know I saw."

"You were watching me?"

"No I-I was looking at somebody else. I saw movement, looked, and it was you spilling your drink."

I don't know if she believed me or not. From here, it doesn't matter. From here it was a long time ago. From here, I need to go forward, and yet I can't help but look back.

Who was she? It doesn't matter. Somebody from my past, but she serves as an example of what I'll have to do again. See, I probably should have said, "Yeah," cuz I was watching her. Not in some weird stalker way, my gaze was fairly innocent. Then again I'm half blind, so I'm lucky I saw anything. I can't even read women's nametags without looking like I'm staring at their breasts. I'm not, I just have really bad eyesight.

How convenient.

No, really. If I try and read their badges by touch they get all freaked out. I have to stare. This girl wasn't a waitress, and she wasn't wearing a name badge; I had personal reasons for watching, and personal reasons for not fessing up. Being shy was only a one of those.

See, we're all shy to some extent, and when I need to, I override the feeling. It's a flick of an internal switch: just like everybody else. Unfortunately, my fuse box is a little overloaded, and when I throw that switch, other things go out as well. Sometimes it's an inhabitation blackout. Things that say, "you probably shouldn't compare the similarities between Tolkien's heroes and Austin's Heroines," when it's obvious the object of my conversation can't process concepts beyond the Real World. No, I believe that shyness is like pain: It's a sensor that tells us something else is wrong. It's up to us to interpret what that "something else" is, because sometimes the Klaxons of internal panic are overkill.

"No I-I was looking at somebody else…"

But that "getting back out there" crap? What if I'm perfectly happy living secluded and alone? Of course I'm not, but I could learn. I just need to rewire a few things. I don't really want to go through the searching process again. All that crap I have to re-learn? All the games, crazies, and insecurities? I don't want to do that. If I wanted that, I'd live near LA.

Oh.

Well that's beside the point. That's more of a voyeuristic thing. You're asking me to participate. I don't want to break another person in. It's like training a dog. Ok, Ok, before you rush my door with flaring torches and a railroad tie, let me explain.

Sure, I can wait until you get the lighter fluid, why?

HEY!

No, what I'm saying is that when you match up with somebody, it takes a lot of time to learn their moods, sighs, and general personality. It's a lot of work, and most of the time you put in the effort to discover that those moods, sighs, and general personalities, are better suited for somebody else. It's like playing blindfolded Jenga on the neighbor's Slip 'n Slide, and here comes the fat kid. Please understand, I'm no EZ Bake Oven cake myself. I'm a cacophony centered soufflé ready to collapse at any moment. I know that. And sure, with the right person, it's worth the effort. But to go through all that again? I thought I had the right person last time, what's going to make this time any different? I apparently suck at figuring out "The right person." So does that mean I have to depend on their ability? That means I've got to find the perfect woman just so she can figure out if she's the right woman for me.

Great...What the hell is that? Then there's the break-in period. That time where you decide "I'll make this work, no matter what." It's like wearing in new shoes. Each day you put them on, it hurts so bad your eyes tear. You keep reminding yourself how good they look, and how you knew they were for you the first time you saw them, but now, actually showing them off makes you cry. Still you work through the pain, no matter how silly you look waddling like a penguin. That's how the break-in process goes. And yeah, once you're both broken, you fit great, and neither one of you can conceive being worn by another.

Still, all I hear is a voice in my head repeating, "I was looking at somebody else…" And yeah, I'm afraid that it's not my voice at all.