I shouldn't be allowed to speak to people. I am eloquent and intelligent until I'm faced with physical attraction, and then I deteriorate at an accelerated rate. My brain decides to infuse itself with an toxic material, and any semblance of class or charisma I have slips laughingly out my eyes and ears, but never between my teeth.

I can start off with a bold movement, something out of my spectrum of ordinary. I can make small talk, and pitifully keep it up for at least a little while, flailing miserably and consciously aware of the devoted friends who hover behind me, supportively eavesdropping. I strike up conversation like a match - it burns brilliantly for a moment, then inevitably fizzles out, burning the soft pads of my fingers as it extinguishes. I am oblivious to the pain, and I strike another match. This one doesn't burn as bright. It dances prettily for a second, until a gust of wind blows it out, a gust that appears in the form of an acquaintance who's oblivious to my struggle, and interferes while I scrounge for some better material.

'I like your poster.'

Absolutely fucking brilliant. I am a genius.

I realize the weakness of my matchstick this time almost immediately, and hasten to blow it out. It's too late. I think I burnt us both this time, and I can't tell if I should just walk away and save myself, or keep it up, and risk a few more burnt fingertips. I must be some sort of masochist, because I hang around, and test my dialoguing skills further. Obviously, it's just going to get worse. And it does. So witty and interesting am I that I ask about school, which is obviously a topic of extreme interest to everyone. Especially Provincial Exams.

That's right. She can write it down, but she can't get it out verbally. Not to mention, she's too scared to put the written account out for anyone to see, because she's too scared to reveal how she really feels. She'll put it up under a fake screen-name, on a website where millions of strangers can see it, but she won't even let her own mother lean over her shoulder. It could be an explanation for why her conversational skills are so bad.

The largest problem is that I can't tell what he's thinking. He's sitting down, I'm doing my best to not 'search for my story in the ceiling', and I'm keeping eye contact, but I feel horribly inferior even standing up, looking down at him (sort of - he's tall in his seat, so I'm still basically looking across at him). I don't know if he thinks I might suffer from some sort of mental disability, or if he finds me awkwardly charming. I want him to. I want him to know that I'm always like this. I can't get my sentences straight no matter who I'm talking to, and I distractedly ramble with the most homely of individuals. I want him to know that yes, I do think he's just stunning, but I'm just having some inner conflict, shyness fighting with the gusto I like to tell people I have. I read somewhere that quiet people are really extroverts, because they think that other people think they aren't talking enough. So they go on, and on, and on. Sound familiar?

Somewhere in my arbitrary spouting, I express an interest in what he's doing the next night. Performing again. Well, I've already told him that I really like his music, that we play it at work all the time, and it's obviously not going to be too much of a stretch to admit that I'd kind of like to see him again. Of course, I fail horribly at playing cool, and half-promise to show up. He says he'll sneak me in. Sounded like a really good plan at the time, but I don't have a phone number or any method in which to contact him, so I think that plan may be less than solid.

I'm trying not to get carried away with myself, but as usual, it's just a bit hard. I'm over-reactive, I've heard it a million times. I'm rational too, though, so cut me a little slack. You have little to no idea how mind-bogglingly irritating it is to be a dreamer and a feet-on-the-ground kind of gal, all in one. I have to stop mistaking one thing for another. But what could it hurt? Maybe he does like me. Maybe he doesn't. Would it hurt to have another friend? No. But if someone asks/invites you (and alright, I fished a little) to do something, you should probably do it.

So I will.