Thought Catalog

Anonymous

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This is a letter of apology for the terrible sexual intercourse we’re about to have. I just wanted to take a moment to accept full responsibility and provide several philosophical justifications for a night that you and your friends will undoubtedly laugh about for years to come.

Please stop. I’ve had enough of your raucous nonsense. Like for real, dudes, go back to earnestly swaying or self-consciously nodding your head. Or, better yet, just stand awkwardly while ogling girls. There is nothing worse than you jumping up and down like you’re at my eighth-grade birthday party at the trampoline gym…

I spent my adolescence hating my dad for being an insane, racist, misogynistic, conspiracy theorist. I chalked up all his beliefs to deeply repressed reclining-chair-and-Prozac type issues. Unfortunately for my years of teenage snakiness, I’m starting to realize he was right about everything.

Present yourself in the world as an individual. Put on a guise. Convince yourself that your presentation is unique and worthy of notice. It is of no consequence. You will not be given the attention you seek. It is never enough. The eyes you meet will be primarily concerned with their own gaze, as are you.

I dropped out of college after three days. 10:00 on a Saturday night, I threw on my backpack, strode to my car, and fled.

Oh, Jane Austen is female? Really? My bad. It’s hard to assign a gender to those bulbous baggy eyes and sloping shoulders. Here’s how “she” was crappy to women: She glorifies uptight chicks. Have you ever noticed her fangirls tend to be on the highstrung “virtuous” side?

It is then that a decrescendo occurs and a cold stream runs through you as you remember that monumental fight you two got into, retreating into your corners of the ring, waiting for the other to send the first SOS, the first apology, the first admittance of wrongdoing.

Androgyny, as I intend for this piece, is not concerned with sexuality. Rather, it is androgyny defined as the spiritually developed person in the Jungian fashion of recognizing the anima (for guys) and the animus (for girls). There is a girl inside every boy and a boy inside every girl, to put it simply.

I pictured our life together. Taking her hand and tugging her to the nearest park to make-out on the see-saw. Discovering mutual phobias like our harrowing fear of neck wrinkles. Selecting matching patterned cases for our decrepit and brutally stained pillows we got from my parent’s storage space.

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