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It's late. I'm awake. What is a boy to do?

Groucho Marx (no relation) famously stated, "I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member."

That's the ten year story, folks. From April 2002 until today, I have been a subject of unmatched feelings: resisting the affection of a few to fail at receiving the favor of fewer. Silliness, right?

Today served as an appropriate microcosm for the decade. The wrong girl called.

I apologize. It's unfair to attribute this phenomenon to my first love. High school serves as a fairer origin.

My second weekend at Bethel, I met a classmate that divulged her life story. When she revealed that she had a man back home, I honorably made no advance. I went to work the following Saturday and returned to seven voicemails of mounting anxiety. Had I been a wiser man, I would have left it alone. I returned her call(s) and endured the roaring laughter of my roommate.

Minutes later, I darted across the parking lot upon spotting the beautiful girl beyond my reach. The conversation was short lived -- my stalker interrupted as if my present company was absent. The girl disengaged for the sake of the aggressive claimer.

Before and since Heather, the trend has repeated. Only for that blip have I experienced mutual admiration, and the one-sided sort leaves me beyond humble...into the realm of the uncomfortable. Of this, I have both violated and been violated.

I'm falling asleep at the keyboard; this will be tabled...