I began this blog so that all of the content that I did not want impeding on my other blog, I could instead store here. Tonight however I am using this blog for an entirely different reason; therapeutic.

Well, hopefully.

It’s Friday night here in Australia as I type away this particular number, and the reason why I am writing this rather than being out on the town like other stereotypical young adults is for the simple reason that I have no paramour in my life to go out with.

Yes, I have friends (actually, I’m lying – I have a best friend and I have a couple of friends overseas) and I have a family (who I get along with as often as I travel to Mars by pony), but, like I have written previously on this blog, I have this hole inside me which can be filled only by a potential love interest, and as long as it remains unfilled, I am forced to endure this feeling of intense loneliness.

Okay, full confession? I have not being in a romantic relationship since 2009. In 2012 I began to think that a relationship may be a good thing to attempt, as I have continued to think since, yet attempting to start one is proving to be immeasurably difficult.

You see, as I have (I think) mentioned on this blog previously, I suffer from depression; I have since I was 15, and I have since convinced myself that no woman could ever possibly fall in love with me, which is what makes attempting to ask a woman out so difficult. I already think a woman is going to say ‘no’ before asking her out, so I normally don’t bother.

In June of this year I asked a woman out, and I probably should not have done so. Reason: she is SO out of my league (I say ‘is’ rather than ‘was’ because I bump into her every Monday – funny – I asked her out because I thought I would never see such a beautiful woman again, and yet, now I am forced to do so!) Basically, I was pretentious to think for a second I was her type; to think she was available; to even attempt such an action.

But, amazingly enough, after I asked her out and was rejected, I did not feel so bad – true, my ego was deflated and I was disappointed, but it was not as painful as the feeling I have in my gut right now.

A young woman I met in 2011 resurfaced in my life this year, and I never began to pay her much interest until now. In August we really began to communicate, and I told her I thought it was strange that a beautiful, intelligent woman such as herself was without friends, and we talked about not affiliating with people at the university campus we attend and she later mentioned she was single when I raised the idea of a possible partner.

Like I mentioned previously – I often convince myself that women cannot love me, and the same applies here.

I contemplated asking her out last week, but this feeling of mine halted my doing so, and today I just went for it; and it turns out she began to date a man not even a week ago. If I had asked her out last Friday as planned, I might have been lucky enough to be dating her right now.

This is of course, my own damn fault.

I guess the reason why I wanted to go out with her is, yes, because I like her, but the real inspiration for my asking was for a different reason entirely. I may have written this here previously, maybe not too – full confession, right? – but I have in the past attempted suicide, and one technique that I have been using to keep my depression from completely destroying my existence is to distract my mind; as long as I am doing something; working; going to university; talking to friends or family – I am not thinking of my depression.

However, this technique of mine has been waning recently, and I at present feel as depressed as I did back in 2010, which is the last time I attempted to take my life, and was the one time when I really nearly succeeded, and if my friend had not intervened, and, with the help of her father taken me to a medical clinic, I would not be here now.

On that note, I felt that going out with this young woman would do me good; would help me with my depression and fill the hole inside my gut.

Instead, that’s not going to happen. For a long time I wanted to die. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I don’t necessarily want to die now, but this is the first time that I can remember when I am scared; I don’t know if I will be able to continue without, well, love I guess.

Anyway, I just wanted to write this, and I have.

Thank you for reading!

Oh, and I don’t think this was therapeutic at all! But I tried, right?


…And the Crusade to hath hold unto: The story of youth, of life, of what is and what should not have been


This piece will contain some coarse language.

All World Issues is one particular blogger that I follow. A young, Australian woman, this particular blogger has some many interesting, yet at the same time relatable views on life and other such ideologies and concerns. On Saturday I do believe, the young lady conceived a post on bullying, and her general dislike of such a nefarious issue in society today, the post that she wrote located at the link below:

By the conclusion of her piece, All World Issues asked her readership if they wouldn’t mind developing a post of their own in regards to any experiences they had endured in regards to bullying. So, with that said, this here post is my response in regards to such a question.

Now, I myself have had some experience with bullying in the past. Perhaps I should amend that last statement. I suffered quite a fair bit, no, a shit load, that’s the word, a rather large amount of bullying when I was younger that was active during my high school years.

If there was one thing I could say about high school, it’s that I survived.

All World Issues is not wrong when she says that bullies will often target you for no particular reason. So, why me? I wonder how many people say that when it happens to them?

I was new. Most people at the high school knew each other from primary school. I came from an area that was farther out, whilst a majority of the other students just lived around the corner, so had grown up together.

Amazingly enough, I was lucky – at first. I befriended those who were perceived as the ‘cool’ crowd. They allowed me access to their friends and appeared to treat me like one of their own – to my face. Behind my back it was a whole different story, and eventually I guess they just grew tired of talking behind my back and made sure it was to my face.

I guess I realised I was not wanted when I was simply told that – in one way or another. The guy sitting next to me said I did not belong there at the school. Then he said I should go fuck my mother. I was 12 at the time, and believe it or not this was the first time I had been told this. I had no prior experience and didn’t really know what to do, and so told him to go fuck himself and I wished him best wishes in getting his tiny prick any larger than one centimeter.

That apparently didn’t go down well.

I realised again that I was unwanted that same week when the same guy, along with all his friends said they wished that I would ‘fucking die’; how so – a sword to chop my head off – and then to hack me into a thousand pieces with.

Maybe a little over the top, but still, the message was acquired.

Then the violence started.

I was winded twice during my first year. On both occasions I did not suspect the punch was coming.

Later on in that semester, the guy who had said he wished I was dead became angry with me when he attacked me and I knocked him to the ground. He managed to get the better of me and beat the shit out of me for fun. The class laughed.

In the second semester though, something new happened. Wood work and other such classes are supposed to be fun for the guys. I leant three things during the class. One, I’m good enough with wood work that I would probably always pass with a solid C. Two, I’m probably always going to be a shitty carpenter, and three, a piece of wood hurts when you get clocked over the head by one.

I guess that guy who said he wished I was dead really meant it. I just never assumed he would take the threat to the next level. Perhaps I should have known – surrounded by sharp objects and such that someone who hated me enough might see the potential opportunity to do some damage. When the teacher temporarily left to go into the back room, the guy saw his chance – he grabbed a nice shiny piece of wood whilst my back was turned, and whacked it across the back of my head.

I got a whopping good head ache, nothing else, which I should have been glad for. I tried to tell the teacher what had happened – and apart from ignoring me, when it came time for the truth to come out, the entire class sided with the guy who had hit me – I apparently was a clumsy son of a bitch, had tripped, and had hit my head in the side of the metallic bench I was working at.

I came to the conclusion that I could not win and chose not to tell anyone else. I was the freak in the eyes of a majority of the people.

There were some that were not so bad. In music class I befriended a couple guys, and over the course of high school we founded ourselves a school band with some older students and managed to do a pretty good job at rocking and rolling around, which is probably one of my better moments from high school.

I could have left I guess to escape the times that weren’t so good, but a bunch of rotten apples were not going to scare me.

In the second year it was much of the same thing. There were less physical attacks and more verbal ones.

I must have been called every name available. A couple that stand out would include:

-fucking friendless freak (‘triple f’ for short)

-disgusting fucking creature

-mother fucking fucker

-fucking hideous lanky cunt

-Anglo cunt

-dead cunt

Imagine this every single day. It does get a little tiring.

I was also called gay, faggot and pofter a lot. It would seem that people who bully you are scared of sexuality. I however can attest to the fact that I’m a hetero, although I think those posts should not ever see the light of day because of their incredibly graphic content.

However, year nine was the definitive moment in my life.

Physical attacks went from one extreme to the next. I was frequently water bombed. I had my locker broken into on a couple of occasions and had my lock broken, with some of my goods been stolen.

Class also became more violent than ever before. I had a pair of scissors thrown at me on more than one occasion, and they clipped me twice. Once in the head, and once in the ear. I had a calculator thrown at me, but I guess my number wasn’t up cuz it missed. I had several pencil cases thrown at me on a number of occasions. I even on one occasion had a chair thrown in my direction. Now, you might ask, what was the teacher doing? My home room teacher and my English teacher were one and the same – and she joined in on the attacks. Not the physical ones, but on the verbal ones. I overheard her call me a freak on a couple occasions. I only assume she was talking about me because my name, the word ‘freak’, and the pointing in my direction all lead me to believe one thing. On top of that, on two occasions I told her about attacks and she said ‘what exactly do you want me to do? The class is working to the best of their capability, so quit your bitching.’

The only bitch in the room was her in my eyes. She didn’t last though – she left the following year to go make some other schools’ unhappy.

I began to do my best to keep out of the way of students. No one ever sat near me in class, and I was only so glad for that. I became quite sick and tired of doing things for those who hated me; staying out of their way, was more for them than it was for me.

This didn’t really work anyway.

Later on in the year, a substitute teacher took a class. The class, well, excluding me, joined into a circle, drew a picture of me, then set it on fire, and laughed as it burnt.

I guess for some that wasn’t nearly enough, for come lunchtime, it did not take me long to realise that the hissing sound I heard was deodorant – and it was been put onto me. You know that fire warning label on each bottle of spray. I always assumed it was there for a reason, and I suppose the guy who sprayed me was smart enough to figure that out too. I spun around to confront him and knocked the bottle from his hand. I turned back to close my locker, before taking off my jumper and dumping it in there too, shutting it and turning around – to find the guy with an ignited cigarette lighter in his hand.

Everyone around me looked real disappointed. I managed to avoid all of them, but not before they managed to spray me again.

I suppose the class was still lusting for blood come the conclusion for lunch, because when I returned, the class stood around me and the guy who had intended to turn me into the human torch took the lead. He shoved a knife in my face and told me he would kill me if I ever touched him again like I had when I knocked the spray can from his hands.

A teacher suddenly came around the corner, and everyone moved to their lockers.

Out of fear for my own safety, I began to carry a small knife in my bag. It was a simple switch blade piece, where you flipped it out from the side. It had a good enough point to it, but also had a ruler along the side of the metallic blade, for that was its primary job – ruling lines on paper and then cutting along them.

Unfortunately, one afternoon when I was placing books in my bag, a fellow student saw the blade, and told a teacher about it. Instant suspension for me – for one week. I told the vice principal who interrogated me everything that had led to this moment for I concluded that if I was going down, I would take as many people with me. The guy who had been attacking me all these years – the leader – suspended for three days. Justice?

During the course of my week long suspension I had the decency to acquire bronchitis, and so was away for two weeks rather than one, and upon returning to school, it was a very different place indeed.

For starters, the kid who saw my knife – he told the whole school it was plastic – and they believed him.

A foxy young woman who was a year older than I who I obviously in regards to my previous comment had a thing for also believed the stories. Let’s just say if she ever had a thing for me, it officially came to an end when she trusted all those who hated me over my word.

Secondly, a book had been passed around the year level – a blank exercise book, that was no longer blank at all. The pages in and around the middle were filled with the signatures of 126 people. I counted them myself. I assumed there were around 150 people in my year level, which meant that a lot of people had signed this petition, for that it what it was. A petition for what? The sentence in the very central pages said it all; we want Derek Childs to die.

How did I come by this book? My year nine homeroom/English teacher gave it to me. No, she didn’t sign it. I guess she thought she would get in trouble. I took it to the vice principal. His response?

He asked if I had been attacked recently. I said no. He asked if I had any wounds on me. I said no. He came to the conclusion that this was simply students been students and told me to toss the book in the trash and forget about it.

Forgetting about it was a little difficult. It did not take long for me to be attacked in class again, and after I ended up on the ground, in an attempt to redeem myself I really went to town on the guy who had attacked me – and I kicked his arse up and down the classroom. Well, not quite, but I did a good enough job.

There are however always consequences for embarrassing your enemies, and I paid mine the next day. I only wish that when people chose to fight you, they did so on their own. In a fair one on one fight, although I would have rather avoided such an occurrence, I had a considerable chance of winning. One on several though – excuse my language, but I was fucked.

Long story short, I ended up on the ground.

Eventually all of this became too much for me. There is some aspects of what happened I am going to avoid due to the fact that I feel I’ve embarrassed myself enough and there are some other occurrences that I do not want to touch because I don’t want to write about those painful moments, so I will just skip to what I inevitably did.

In class one day I found myself in another confrontation when the teacher left to yell at a misbehaving student. I had a number of items thrown at my head, before been told again how the class wished I would die. One such item thrown at me was a pair of scissors – the person who threw them also yelled out how he wished I would kill myself with them.

Now, I don’t know if I really wanted to actually kill myself, or if I simply wanted the attention of the teachers who had been ignoring me all these years; but I took that pair of scissors, opened them up, and with all my might I shoved one of the sharp tips into my left wrist. I then proceeded to do this five times, over and over again. I did not slice – I simply stabbed. I aimed for a beautiful blue vein and went to town.

As for the class – they cheered me on. That was until the blood began to seep out from the wound I had created. For some odd reason as I sat there, the blood flowing across my fingers and onto the carpet, the class actually became frightened and the one who had lead the attacks all these years ran for the teacher and told her what had happened.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who you were at the time I guess, the damage I had done was not terrible enough that I found myself on deaths door – no.

I didn’t need stitches, but I did need a few Kleenexes and a good couple large band aids that needed to be changed a few times over the course of the day because the blood kept seeping through. I was fixed up at the nurses office, and the leader of the bullies was expelled.

Well, it only took three years.

As previously mentioned, he was their leader, so after that the physical violence died down. The verbal attacks didn’t though. If anything, the classes seemed more pissed off than ever that I had survived.

There was one teacher at the school who was particularly nice though, and he told me that as students grew older the attacks would die down, and very gradually I guess they did over the next three years. Very slowly, but still, they died down.

Of course, the one change that happened in year nine was that I changed myself. I began to stop caring what people thought, and I instead wore that ‘freak’ title they gave to me like a badge. This was of course after my little incident with the scissors. They thought I was a freak, and so I made sure that they would not forget it.

I survived high school. I made a couple friends here and there that are still friends to this day, and I was loathed by all the rest.

I am certain that lots of people have experienced worse than I. I agree with All World Issues that bullying is pretty horrible, but it ain’t going to stop. I don’t get bullied any more, but I know that some people don’t like me, but you’ll get that wherever you go.

I think you can either attempt to outgrow those who hate you and not care, or let it consume and overwhelm you until it takes control of your life. It is difficult to avoid the unavoidable, so me recommending that option is like me recommending you avoid the killer shark that is one second away from making you yet another trophy between its teeth.

Bullying gradually will become worse. There are numerous news stories about people been stabbed at school and murdered, and I am glad I didn’t become a news story.

Anti-bullying campaigns don’t work, and neither do the videos. You will never stop it; you just have to outlive it. If you can do that, then you have officially conquered it. This is my view, and not that of All World Issues.

That particular young lady wishes to start a campaign to build awareness against bullying and has other great ideologies in regards to such a plan. I’m glad that such a person is committed to such goals. I wish her luck and anyone else who attempts such a plan.

You ain’t gonna stop bullying for it is imbedded inside human culture, and honestly, how are you going to change human culture when there are 7.4 billion human beings on the planet. Now, many of them have not bullied others. Many of them have never been bullied. But the other couple billion people have either bullied or been bullied. I ask those who wish to help, can you really help solve all that pain?

People are capable of the greatest of things. They are capable of love, of happiness, of amazing intellect, of generosity, of selflessness. People can also do unspeakable evil. They are capable of hate, misogyny, and violence. This is human nature. Everyone can do good, just as everyone can do bad. Can you really change a couple thousand years of evolution?

Getting her out of my System


It would seem that I am still having considerable trouble attempting to adapt to a life that does not involve the woman that I had fallen for. After been told two Sunday’s ago that a relationship was not a possibility because the feelings I have are not shared by the woman that I love, my, you could say, heart, is still yet to properly fathom that information. Or perhaps it is just my ego, since I had not expected the negative response that I had given to me to be orchestrated. So, in an attempt to get over Elisha, the woman I still remarkably have feelings for after been rejected, I am dedicating this post to her, whilst hoping that releasing my feelings will help me move forward.

True, I am only twenty two and I shouldn’t be feeling a little desperate like it’s my final hour alive and I have no more time to waste looking for my one true love (I know, sickening, right?), but sometimes I just get fed up from not having someone with me. I don’t like beginning relationships after I have been in a previous one for a long term period, and the last relationship I was involved in concluded in January of 2011. I immediately began to develop feelings for Elisha in March of that same year, but I did not react on them based on principle – that, and I could not believe for a second that I would fall for another person so quickly, and an Australian for that.

Now, maybe I seem a little crude with my negative connotation of Australian’s in my last paragraph, but, and I have admitted this before so I don’t think I’m shaming myself too much by saying this; I have not once in my life had a romanticised relationship with an Australian woman before. I had a very close friendship with one Australian, who was a very good friend of mine, and I wanted it to be developed into something more and it was indeed on the verge of becoming a full blown romanticised relationship when that concluded. Forgive me if I fail to go into the details of that occurrence, which is a story quite unlike Elisha and I, and one I am not keen to divulge.

I will say that every time I have asked an Australian woman out (which is four times now), it has always been a negative response. Now, you may think ‘four times? That ain’t much’, but the thing with me is, I become attracted to people really easily. I don’t react on attraction. I rarely fall in love though, and I only attempt to have a relationship with someone when my feelings are absolute and true. My feelings for Elisha were this. That is why it will take me time to get over her, although I wish it was not the case. Somehow, we continuously seem to be bumping into each other more and more, despite the fact that there should only be another fourteen days left in the year when there is the distinct possibility of us seeing one another – then she will leave to Darwin and never return, and honestly, right now, I think I will be quite happy with that conclusion – because with Elisha in Melbourne – it is incredibly painful to have my failure, you could say, walking around.

Apparently it would seem that she could think less of me – in fact, it would even seem that if a single thought of me went through Elisha’s mind, it would be the fastest thing that was ever recorded. I mean absolutely nothing to her, and that is why it hurts – my feelings for her are the complete opposite of her own – on top of that, I always want what I cannot have, and I certainly cannot have Elisha, just like I cannot be King of Mars, which is why I want her so.

I have mentioned in the past, although I don’t think it was on this site, but to Elisha herself, that the aspect that attracted me to her was her capability to work proficiently. Whenever she put her mind to a task, she endeavored to complete said task to the best of her ability, and I found this trait to be quite attractive.

Whenever I have fallen for a woman, it was never her gorgeous good looks that made me have feelings for them; it was always another part of them; their intellect; their personality; their talent. In the case of Elisha, as previously mentioned, it was her work ethic, and because the feelings I had did not manifest from physical attraction originally, I knew that what I felt was real and true.

One thing I always found interesting about Elisha, was her communication style. When communing with friends, she was always loquacious. I will have to admit, I am not usually fond of people who talk a lot, and to be honest with you, I am quite often not very fond of the friends that the women I fall for have, and the same especially went for Elisha.

However, returning to her style of communication. Although she was garrulous among friends, when it came to speaking with people of authority, including communication professionals, or talking with groups that were consistent of ten people or more, she would suddenly become incredibly nervous. This shyness of hers I found odd, for physically and mentally I felt there was nothing wrong with her that would cause this trait of hers to manifest itself so strongly that it would cause her to squeak like a mouse or stammer on her words.

What I felt most intriguing about my feelings was that it seemed I had convinced myself that a relationship was possible because Elisha liked me just as I liked her. I have actually mentioned below what drew me to such conclusions, and what alternatively could have shown me that I was terribly wrong:

-In April, I rested my arm on the back of Elisha’s chair and she pulled away. If there was ever a clearer ‘no’, I am yet to see it.

-In late August, I provided Elisha with information that would help with a PowerPoint presentation assignment after she asked for my assistance. I had mentioned to her earlier in the year that I did not give out things for free and would ask for something in return, a condition which she accepted. This time, I mentioned to her that if she happened to use any of the info I provided, that perhaps she ought to take me out to dinner as a sign of ‘thanks’. The next time we saw each other, her friend went to sit near me, and Elisha dragged her away and said ‘I think he likes me’ and indicated towards me before sitting as far away from where I was seated as possible. No?

-Elisha felt confident enough to admit to me that she was nervous about giving the PowerPoint presentation to the class. I consulted her and told her ‘you’ll do fine gorgeous’ and squeezed her arm, and she did nothing to stop me from doing so.

-Elisha never used the information I provided to her. Or said she didn’t. Both are no’s I wager?

-Elisha skipped two classes that I was in after the presentations.

-The next time I saw Elisha, she said ‘hi’ to me, and said so in a very nervous tone. Yes? No?

-In that same class, she moved to sit closer to her friend, and then for the rest of the class couldn’t keep her eyes off me. I thought at the time that she had thought about a relationship with me and had concluded that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

-Closer towards the end of the semester, I invited Elisha to a book launch that I was invited to. She said ‘no’ – a friend of hers had a birthday. The launch was moved back by two days and so I invited Elisha again, and received another ‘no’ – she was busy – a friend’s birthday. Two birthday’s in one week – that is either one helluva coincidence – or one helluva ‘no’ – maybe she simply lacked imagination to come up with a more decent reason not to go with me.

-However, after the book launch, Elisha apologised to my face for not being able to go. I said that it was no problem; that, as I had put it ‘I got two chicks to go with me’, these two women being friends of mine. Elisha suddenly looked taken aback by this comment and said ‘oh’ in a very jealous tone and quickly changed the subject.

-Back in May of this year, after Elisha and I had not communicated for quite a while, she said ‘hi Naughty’ (Naughty not being my real name) when I walked past her. She had been waiting for her friends to accompany her out, neither of whom had arrived when she spoke to me out of the blue.

-The week after during class, Elisha frequently looked in my direction from where she was seated right on the other side of the room.

So that is what influenced me to think that Elisha liked me, yet, at the same time made me wonder if she felt nothing for me at all.

Was I right to think that Elisha liked me? Obviously not since she apparently doesn’t, but, seriously, I think this is a must for me; was I right to make such interpretations based on the experiences that I mentioned above? Call it my need to know, and since Elisha wants nothing to do with me now, I sure can’t ask her such a question.

Also, I know that Elisha has stated that she doesn’t want to begin anything too serious for at the moment she wishes to study, and then focus on her career for the next five to ten years. Would this have anything to do with her answer to my relationship? Before you may or may not answer that, please consider this – Elisha has said in the past that she wants to fall in love. So, with that said, I ask again – does her want to focus on work affect her relationship capabilities?

I know that a couple bloggers have respectively told me that I should respect her wishes to not continue a relationship, move on, or even make her partially regret not having a relationship with me. I agree, all of these are important notions that I have accepted. I only wish to have answers to help me better understand where everything went wrong to help me officially move on, and to ensure I don’t make the same outrageous mistakes again in the future.

Thank you for reading and for any answers you may provide.

Sincerely and with kind regards

Naughty Nefarious.

A Predictable Failure?

For anyone who has frequented certain previous posts of mine, you would know that I have on (frequent) occasion mentioned my infatuation with a certain young lady named ‘Elisha’. Well, my ingenious plan was to tell this ominous young woman how I felt about her. I had written a few soporific pieces in regards to my feelings of infatuated love for her, and if you have endured the hardship of reading these deranged cries of love and heartache, then I feel it is my duty to fill you in with the conclusion to this reoccurring love story.

Think of this as your gift for reading all of the previous romanticised drivel that I have thrust upon the pages of this site. Every story is deserving of an ending, even one as tired and boring as the one I have generated on this blog, so allow me to give you the end; in great, verbose detail.

If you have not read my previous posts, then here is quick and very brief recap (of course, my definition of ‘brief’ usually spans around two thousand words).

Two years ago, a young woman named Elisha from Darwin, the capital city of the Northern Territory, made her way to Melbourne and began to attend the same university as I, appearing in a number of my classes. I immediately became attracted to the commitment she applied to her work, in which she endeavored to accomplish everything she began with all of her capability. I found this personal drive of hers to be very attractive, and the fact that she was incredibly beautiful was just an added bonus. Smart, easy to communicate with and with a great personality to boot, she was gorgeous, and often dressed in rather short attire (so short that at times if it had been any shorter her vagina may have made an entrance); to me she was the bees knees.

I came to the conclusion that my telling her how I felt might adversely affect her time in Melbourne if it all went belly up, and so left it to the final semester of our final year together to tell her how I felt.

Well, now with that recap over, I can officially announce that Saturday past was the day that I told her how I felt – via e-mail. Yes; daggy, pathetic, and absolutely without dignity.

‘Why?’ you might ask me, stunned by this sudden admittance. ‘Why use e-mail. Why not confess it to her face?’

Well, you see, I think I’m too much of a gentleman (meaning I’m too much of an emotionally weak bastard) to admit anything to Elisha’s face, although I had every intention of doing so. I asked her at the beginning of Friday if I could borrow some of her time to discuss with her something that was weighing on me. She agreed to do so at the end of the day.

So, I waited, and waited, and waited, and after I had done waiting all that time I then began to get started on waiting some more.

Finally, by the day’s conclusion at approximately 3:46, Elisha and I had our moment to talk; all six seconds of it. The conversation went something like this:

Elisha: ‘Did you want to talk to me?’

The idiot (me): ‘Yes, but if you’re busy we can reschedule to talk next week.’

Elisha: ‘E-mail it to me, okay?’ (Quickly hurries for the door and is already half way across the room)

The idiot: ‘Okeay doakey’ (is this spelt right?)

Okeay Doakey? As I said it, the words did not even seem to be coming from my mouth. You know that moment, when it is like you are watching something from afar rather than actually participating in the occurrence? I personally had never had this happen to me and doubted it could happen – but believe me, if you have not yet experienced it, allow me to tell you – this kind of crap is real – and I warn you, it can, and will happen – if you let it.

Let my experience be a warning to you – now please, go out and live damn it, live!

Anyway – judging by Elisha’s power walk to the door that very action should perhaps have alerted me to the fact that Elisha’s want to talk to me was about as potent as my want to be eaten by a Great White Shark – which I do not want to have happen. My point? I think I should have realised Elisha did not really want to talk. Of course, been a Friday night she probably had a couple parties to get to.

So, on Saturday morning I managed to get up bright and early at around 4 a.m. to write my feelings down. She had told me to write to her, so I felt that I was doing her justice by following her wishes. In the end, I wrote five whole pages worth of me feelings, followed by a love poem.

I have no intention of producing either the confession or love, or the poem. No need to thank me, okay – please, thank me! Yes, yes, I appreciate your warm gratitude. Now, now, don’t get carried away! Please, hold the applause! Okay, let it go! Applaud me baby! YAY!

I will tell you that I confessed to being in love with Elisha. I outlined what I liked about her, and why I had these feelings for her, and then I explained why it had taken me all this time to confess my feelings as I outlined in the ‘brief’ recap. I then asked if she felt a romanticised, legitimate, long term relationship could happen between the two of us, and if she could provide to me an answer to my face, rather than with a tweet, e-mail, voice mail, txt or other like service in case there was a misunderstanding brought on by anything that did not involve direct verbal commentary.

Elisha however decided that the last point I had made in the e-mail was laughable – because she did exactly the opposite and at 11:05 Sunday morning sent her response by e-mail. Now, this I will provide to you:

Naughty (this part (my name) has been changed, obviously. If I actually went around being called ‘Naughty’, who do you think would have been blamed for the past twenty two years every time a cookie disappeared from the cookie jar?)

I just read your e-mail, and although I am flattered by your affection for me, I do not feel the same way.

I hope you can understand where I am coming from and that we can keep things at a professional relationship.



P.s (I always thought the ‘s’ in ‘P.S’ was meant to be capitalised. Go figure?) I know you would have preferred me to tell you this in person, but I think my response is clear enough that there shall be no issues with its interpretation.

So, after all this time blogging about this woman of my dreams (not in every post but in at least a good quarter of them) everything officially went belly up.

For anyone who has not read my blog before, you may take one look at what I just wrote and think ‘Jeeze, does this guy e-mail every woman he fancies? He must have never hit a home run!’

However, let me assure you I have had a girlfriend before, bearing in mind it was two years ago, back when people went around clubbing each other over the head with wooden sticks and wore the skin of animals over their private parts. When I did confess me feelings to that particular young woman, it was flawless, and happened a lot easier than this occasion. I told Elizabeth (my then soon to be girlfriend), (I must have an ‘E’ complex, first Elizabeth, now Elisha) that I wanted to be more than friends. Of course, I said this after I pushed her up against a wall in my home and kissed her lips for a good few minutes, before we later went to bed and had lots and lots and lots and lots of………… Yes, hot, steamy, exhausting, passionate, sweaty food. Okay, that’s enough innuendo for one day!

So, now you know how that ended. My Elisha, who is in fact not my Elisha, is to be never more.

Unfortunately, I have found that trying to get over her is a very difficult thing to do, and it would seem that I am completely and utterly in love with her. If I didn’t know this before, then the fact that I am borderline heartbroken due to the fact that I can’t be with her now should indicate that quite clearly to me in vivid heart wrenching detail.

Of course, I do feel that I screwed up, and that on the Friday I should have been a little more persuasive. This is all heading towards a question that I would like to put to my audience. That is if you survived this long…

…should I attempt anything over the next week or so to win Elisha over and gain her affection? This would include anything from kissing her, talking to her, etc, because I honestly am at a loss and would appreciate some much needed guidance. I haven’t had a girlfriend in two years as I pointed out previously, and I don’t know if it shows, but it would seem that I’m a little rusty; like a knight’s armour that was left out in the cold rain for forty five years.

Any answers would be much appreciated!

Thank you for reading people!

Sincerely and with kind regards

Naughty Nefarious