I'm self-convinced that the world is my ocean, and all of the more interesting guys out there are anxiously and imploringly dropping me their lines. Usually, I walk around with my nose in the air thinking that everyone is as stuck on me as I am on myself. In fact, my megalomania is so severe at times, I assume that whomever I'm currently eyeing is, of course, hopelessly in love with me.

Even as I semi-stalk these objects (victims) of my affection, I manage to convince myself that they are, in fact, pursuing me. When they catch me staring them down, I flatter myself thinking that they've been stealing glances at me all the while.

The slightest attention they show me, I warp it into a scarcely disguised display of infatuation on their parts.

I delude myself, recognizing (on some level) the falsehood. Then --

-- just as I'm about ready to toss them aside --

they rekindle my interest with an unequivocal return of theirs.

pushed | push | pushing