Oh yes. It would have made things easier on me had he told me earlier. But that is a complicated matter that I cannot even decipher fully myself. I suppose if you were a neutral party you would be able to see it all clearly.

None are so blind as those who cannot fuckin' see. Well I was blind and so was he. Apparently little old me whose face has been described as "highly emotive and expressive" can be a blank noh mask to someone who is heavily involved in his own emotions. He didn't know whether I mirrored his feelings all those years ago. And now that he is deliriously blissful in his new relationship, he wants to salve his wounded pride by asking me whether I did like him at that time.

I suppose I must be happy. I can control my "emotive" face. But I can't help but feel bitter about knowing.

Because now I am paranoid.

Sometimes it is better to be blind than to be suddenly able to see.

I got a well-deserved put-down by Multiple today. But that is jumping ahead of myself. It is well deserved purely because I have been so blind. So blind. But everything is covered with their own patina. Everyone else sees what they want to see. It is the primal instinct to survive, a shield to protect their weaknesses.

In any case I will begin with this:

"Dear Panther,
Words cannot describe the intense fury I felt after I received your little worded message. Oh thank you very much. You could have spared me the anguish. I thought you got over your stupid fuckin' crush all those years ago. I thought you were merely a friend for the one year I was out with BF 2 and the last three/four years after we left junior college."

Because I had to know.

If some idiot could hide his feelings from me for so many years under the guise of a platonic friend, how many of my male friends harboured feelings for me?

You might find it self-indulgent. A girl, nay a woman should be flattered if you have that much male attention? Why write it down for the whole world to see?

But the problem is, that while I hope myself invisible to the rest of the world, the harsh truth is: I am far too visible. Either my mannerisms or my so-called pretty face or just being plain me.

Better to be hated for what you are and loved for what you are not. The niggling bone to pick is that I have become so confused by the sheer nastiness of school life that I am no longer sure whether any of my so called "sweeter" characteristics that so many females detest are real or I did adopt them to be more attractive. I am no longer sure. And so weary of trying to puzzle out who is the real me.

Of course I do flirt or use charm. Almost every girl likes to have some attention of some kind. It is fun, it is harmless, I don't do it very often. Only if there was a guy I wanted to attract. And BF knows from experience that when I am trying for one guy, my flirtations are only present for that particular man. The rest can go bugger themselves. And sometimes I try it out with girls. Try and be extra charming and friendly, which is the definition of flirting.

And I have always hungered for charm. Too often I have been criticised or some relative remarked that I was awfully taciturn or too unfriendly. So I try to be imitate my mother who has an easy way with people of both sexes. And maybe some people are more perceptive and less forgiving of a charmless imposter that attempts to be friendly. Maybe. I thought I was better than that.

So am I being loved for what I am not or am I being hated for what I am?

When I was in junior college, that many male friends bring you censure in the worse form. And to think I thought that there was such a thing as platonic friendships. And because when one is good friends with one or two guys, one inherits a whole group of male friends, simply because males do cluster together like some sort of hunting pack. You were "one of the guys" so to speak. And in this way, you were justified. You were friends. You weren't flirtatious or sluttish as some of the more vicious rumours were. You were purely together for the sake of having in a group, not indulging in some mass sex orgy.

Whatever. And now, with so many of my bosom male buddies exposed as unrequited loves, I am so sick and tired of it all. It means that Sweet Teeth and so many of my male friends were friends in the truest sense of the word. So what does that make me?

And what did Multiple mean by, "Hamlet told me that he never liked you. He prefers blondes."

What the hell? I am so sick of everything. Do you mean that when I treat someone nice I like him? The argument could be changed to suit Sweet Teeth. He never mistook the same sort of sisterly concern that I gave him and Hamlet for anything else as that coming from a platonic friend.

At least I hope not. You see my dilemma?

This messes everything up. Is it my fault that people see what they want to see? Is it my fault that I see what I want to see? Am I seeing different perspectives? Or am I seeing what I think I should see because someone else said so?

Maybe I was meant to like Hamlet because I was treating him as a really good friend? Oh, you mean that I liked Panther as well even when I was going out with BF number 2? Oh does that mean that I liked everything that was male I met whom I treated as a really good friend? Now I don't even know whether I was infatuated with all the guys in my acquaintance! All of them? At one time? And I thought I was wicked before for liking two guys (in differing degrees, one more, one less,) at a time.

I have a feeling that I answered my own question somewhere in the whole entry. Or I am just going round in circles.

And Multiple would say, "You know yourself best."

What the fuck? What is that suppose to mean? I am confused. Is there a word for the state beyond confused?

But yes, I am furious at Panther. Simply because it is for the reasons stated above, and because I guess I am a dog in a manager. Similar, although not quite the same as Julia Roberts in My Best Friend's Wedding.

I had a bad case of sibling rivalry with my sister when I was growing up, (thank goodness I have mostly out-grown it... honest), so it is no surprise to myself to note that I usually have a problem with my good friends getting a life that doesn't revolve around me. Hamlet, a couple of others, even Jingle. I usually need a growing out period. Sometimes it takes a long time, witness my brat sister and me. Sometimes it is awfully short; in Jingle's case it was about 2 weeks. (We sorted that out amicably and that was about 6 years ago.) And sometimes it never heals, as in Hamlet's case. (Could not tolerate the Princess, and Hamlet was not helping with his incorrigible ways.)

You could say I was spoilt. That I am insecure. That I am just a sucker for punishment and self-indulgence. Whatever.

No wonder I am a neat freak and place such a premium on neatness and order and things. Things don't turn round and bite you and hurt you and slash you with unkind words or nasty feelings. They sit there and will be there for you so long as you treat them well.