My Outlook. . .

Late this afternoon, on a drive back towards my parents house, my mother told me how proud she was of me for getting to know girls so well as friends without getting into deep relationship quagmires.

She went on, praising the virtues of my habit of staying out of relationships, since it keeps me from getting 'sucked in' and becoming too involved in these relationships at such a young age.

Oh heaven's. . . if she had any idea. Thankfully, she doesn't, so she sees me as a responsible young man who keeps his distance because he's wise. Which is good, because it means there is a way to spin positively the ugly truth: that I'm a bitter, cynical bastard who got himself so twisted last time that he is no longer willing to attempt to function properly in a relationship, and as a result doesn't come near anything that implies any level of commitment or even caring.

The fact that I am incapable of trusting a woman enough to actually open up to one is a fact that has escaped her attention. I'm grateful. If she even got a hint of how much I've changed from what she once knew, I think she'd probably snap and begin shoving available "nice girls" under my nose in an attempt to get me to come back from the brink of what she considers madness.

If she heard word-one about the flings, experiments or seductions, she'd probably have a nervous breakdown, and as it is I'm positive she's going to feel betrayed when she starts to realize that I don't plan to ever settle down and start manufacturing her grandchildren.

At the very least, she'd have some choice words for me. As usual, with my mother as with others, I'm working against banked reputation. Like the friends I talked about here, she is so used to how I was that she's incapable of perceiving how I've become.