Thursday, July 24, 2008
The Compulsive Gambler
I have a “Complusive Gambler's theory” that ties in with human behaviour. Instead of cutting one's losses, one often does the opposite- up one's stakes and hope to recoup one's losses. Similarly, savvy financiers have also highlighted in wealth creation books about the ease for most investors to grasp the timing concept of buying an investment but not when to sell. Here, the virtue of “patience” in waiting and/or throwing in more capital to hold on to it longer is used as justification to bid one's time in order to chase that lost dollar. But really, if one is stop and think what's happening here, it's likely a case of one's emotions acting up one's sensibilities. This is closely linked to the human ego that further exacerbates the the human condition of finding it hard to let go.
There is little wonder why it's so easy for one to jump into a relationship but often trickier to get out even when it is heading or has already headed into a dead end. It's more familiar to put up with a challenging arrangement despite the discomfort than to simply say, fuck it, let go and be relieved of any suffering.
Ironic eh? Still, humans have the tendency to behave in this stupid manner.
Well, this is simply because one's EMOTIONS are very good at fucking up one's actions.
*****
I am not excepted from the above theory.
In a bid to win or re-coup one's losses, the Compulsive Gambler continues to up her stakes.
Ever heard that the higher the stakes, the harder the Compulsive Gambler falls?
I am emotionally bankrupt to date. The Compulsive Gambler in me is still revelling in my January 2008 emotional “win” where I was the high roller with the beginner's luck.
Despite having lost the Old Boy since March 2008, I have been upping my stakes, surpassing my usual pride threshold.Simply because I wanted the Old Boy to love me too. Or at least I was hoping to recover his level of pampering and showering me with affection prominent at the peak of his emotions for me- since he has confessed when we broke up that he never loved me.
Every so often, I make a conscious effort to block the Old Boy with various degrees of short-lived success and methods to prevent him from affecting my nerves.
But for the most part, I wait and suffer, like the Compulsive Gambler, still hoping to make a come back.
On quiet nights, I drift to sleep with fond and agonising thoughts of the Old Boy and wake up with some more.
I love the Old Boy, if not more with time.
******
The nights filled with angst and the mornings where I woke up but with my face buried in the pillow; too afraid to face up to another day of reality, I find myself suffering incoherently. That's how I exist on most days.
Lying in bed, rhetorical questions continue to clutter my thoughts.
I love the Old Boy. I think I could even love his children. I even accept every flaws of his, vile ones included. I take the good and bad of him, simple because I love you Darling.
A number of times, the Old Boy even managed to successfully make me take the humble pie and apologise to him grudgingly (of things I didn't feel guilty of) with threats of never talking to me again. You must know, I hate to apologise, especially where I didn't feel that I am at fault.
These irrational emotions I am experiencing has defeated my usual self-denfensive armour- in the form of my usual assertive combination of rationalisation and cynicism.
*****
I learnt the Old Boy has been broke lately and living frugally.
The provider in me didn't like the sound of it. I felt bad that while I was having a great time pampering myself at the beauty parlour on a weekly basis, the Old Boy has been limiting his lunch expenditure to $2.20. Despite so, he had mentioned about getting me a watch for my pilgrimage because his watch wouldn't fit my slim wrist.
“But I didn't get you a birthday present.” Everytime I wanted to shop for one, he would have made me upset and I would renew my resolutions to forget him.
“We are not counting scores ok? I just want to give you a present for your pilgrimage.”
“ Yeah, but I did remember I didn't buy you a present. Besides, the present I have been looking for you, I don't think I can find the right one.
By the way, do you need a massage?”
“:P”
“I am asking a real question.”
“If you need me to answer it in capital letters...YES.”
“OK, I will book us one this Friday if you are free.”
“These things are not cheap, dear. Don't spend money like that, a simple meal would do.”
“It's not expensive lah. Anyway, I need one too so I'll book one for us.”
“You're so sweet. You make it sound like it's a buy one get one free deal and that I am just tagging along.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, to make me feel less bad about accepting it.”
“Don't worry about it. You were good to me before.”
Finally, I booked a spa package for couples.
The Old Boy has flagged that he had family stuff and most likely cannot spend time with me for dinner after the spa session.
That was fine I told him. I didn't dare expect anyway, having known already that the triumph card has long slipped out of my hand. I was just happy that we get to spend some time alone together at all.
Shortly, the Old Boy texted back to say he would find some excuse at home so that he could take me to dinner. Naturally, I was happy with the initiative- once it was a given (where at my whim, I would only have to be mindful of his sensitivities by minimising my other extra social activities that caused him much discomfort, especially since my male friends outnumber my female friends) but now I wait hopefully on the sidelines. What would you like to eat, he had asked. Just not in Holland Village, he had cautioned me given that the area was familiar territory with high prospects of bumming into people. It was up to him- he could decide that for us, I told him. But don't spend too much money.
*****
On the day, he picked me up at my house for the spa. Serendipitously, Mum wasn't home. It was the second consecutive Friday where I had the entire house to myself. I invited him to come in while I got dressed. He declined and chose to wait in the car instead.
The previous Friday, the Old Boy had also declined my invitation to come visit me despite light attempts of luring him with food (since he hasn't been eating well). I waited for his call until I could no longer do so since I would go stir crazy staying at home, hoping and waiting for him. I finally texted him, to which he promptly returned my call and said he was on his way home to his domestics. He must have noted my disappointment but attempted to lighten up the mood and tension on the phone. I began with asking him whineyly why he didn't ring me blah, blah where the echo from my empty house sounded to him on the other end of the line like a raised voice. Of which then, I buried my sad face in the cushion where I laid on the stiff Chinese sofa and mumbled sadly.
In the past, I am sure that the Old Boy would been excited at the opportunity of entering my house where there are enough rooms (I could think of six non-out-of -bound ones), nooks and crannies for us to get up to some serious hanky pankering. It also helps that all the windows in my house are tinted. Three-stories of fun. There are so many ideas for some real play-the dining table, the baby grand piano, the bath tub, my room where my toys are kept. The list goes on...
I have never ever really invited or proposed for a guy to enter my house for intimacy. I find that rather disrespectful to my parents. Even the ex-lover, M was invited as a guest to stay at my house when he visited Singapore.
I didn't know what I was hoping I could get out of the Old Boy coming to my place, perhaps just hoping that maybe we could be together in a private place where I could put my head on his shoulder and hold him tight. I didn't dare think about the rest. I would be elated for him to take me back as his girl again.
(Dear Readers, more stupidity to come from this Compulsive Gambler later in Part 2.)
I have a “Complusive Gambler's theory” that ties in with human behaviour. Instead of cutting one's losses, one often does the opposite- up one's stakes and hope to recoup one's losses. Similarly, savvy financiers have also highlighted in wealth creation books about the ease for most investors to grasp the timing concept of buying an investment but not when to sell. Here, the virtue of “patience” in waiting and/or throwing in more capital to hold on to it longer is used as justification to bid one's time in order to chase that lost dollar. But really, if one is stop and think what's happening here, it's likely a case of one's emotions acting up one's sensibilities. This is closely linked to the human ego that further exacerbates the the human condition of finding it hard to let go.
There is little wonder why it's so easy for one to jump into a relationship but often trickier to get out even when it is heading or has already headed into a dead end. It's more familiar to put up with a challenging arrangement despite the discomfort than to simply say, fuck it, let go and be relieved of any suffering.
Ironic eh? Still, humans have the tendency to behave in this stupid manner.
Well, this is simply because one's EMOTIONS are very good at fucking up one's actions.
*****
I am not excepted from the above theory.
In a bid to win or re-coup one's losses, the Compulsive Gambler continues to up her stakes.
Ever heard that the higher the stakes, the harder the Compulsive Gambler falls?
I am emotionally bankrupt to date. The Compulsive Gambler in me is still revelling in my January 2008 emotional “win” where I was the high roller with the beginner's luck.
Despite having lost the Old Boy since March 2008, I have been upping my stakes, surpassing my usual pride threshold.Simply because I wanted the Old Boy to love me too. Or at least I was hoping to recover his level of pampering and showering me with affection prominent at the peak of his emotions for me- since he has confessed when we broke up that he never loved me.
Every so often, I make a conscious effort to block the Old Boy with various degrees of short-lived success and methods to prevent him from affecting my nerves.
But for the most part, I wait and suffer, like the Compulsive Gambler, still hoping to make a come back.
On quiet nights, I drift to sleep with fond and agonising thoughts of the Old Boy and wake up with some more.
I love the Old Boy, if not more with time.
******
The nights filled with angst and the mornings where I woke up but with my face buried in the pillow; too afraid to face up to another day of reality, I find myself suffering incoherently. That's how I exist on most days.
Lying in bed, rhetorical questions continue to clutter my thoughts.
I love the Old Boy. I think I could even love his children. I even accept every flaws of his, vile ones included. I take the good and bad of him, simple because I love you Darling.
A number of times, the Old Boy even managed to successfully make me take the humble pie and apologise to him grudgingly (of things I didn't feel guilty of) with threats of never talking to me again. You must know, I hate to apologise, especially where I didn't feel that I am at fault.
These irrational emotions I am experiencing has defeated my usual self-denfensive armour- in the form of my usual assertive combination of rationalisation and cynicism.
*****
I learnt the Old Boy has been broke lately and living frugally.
The provider in me didn't like the sound of it. I felt bad that while I was having a great time pampering myself at the beauty parlour on a weekly basis, the Old Boy has been limiting his lunch expenditure to $2.20. Despite so, he had mentioned about getting me a watch for my pilgrimage because his watch wouldn't fit my slim wrist.
“But I didn't get you a birthday present.” Everytime I wanted to shop for one, he would have made me upset and I would renew my resolutions to forget him.
“We are not counting scores ok? I just want to give you a present for your pilgrimage.”
“ Yeah, but I did remember I didn't buy you a present. Besides, the present I have been looking for you, I don't think I can find the right one.
By the way, do you need a massage?”
“:P”
“I am asking a real question.”
“If you need me to answer it in capital letters...YES.”
“OK, I will book us one this Friday if you are free.”
“These things are not cheap, dear. Don't spend money like that, a simple meal would do.”
“It's not expensive lah. Anyway, I need one too so I'll book one for us.”
“You're so sweet. You make it sound like it's a buy one get one free deal and that I am just tagging along.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, to make me feel less bad about accepting it.”
“Don't worry about it. You were good to me before.”
Finally, I booked a spa package for couples.
The Old Boy has flagged that he had family stuff and most likely cannot spend time with me for dinner after the spa session.
That was fine I told him. I didn't dare expect anyway, having known already that the triumph card has long slipped out of my hand. I was just happy that we get to spend some time alone together at all.
Shortly, the Old Boy texted back to say he would find some excuse at home so that he could take me to dinner. Naturally, I was happy with the initiative- once it was a given (where at my whim, I would only have to be mindful of his sensitivities by minimising my other extra social activities that caused him much discomfort, especially since my male friends outnumber my female friends) but now I wait hopefully on the sidelines. What would you like to eat, he had asked. Just not in Holland Village, he had cautioned me given that the area was familiar territory with high prospects of bumming into people. It was up to him- he could decide that for us, I told him. But don't spend too much money.
*****
On the day, he picked me up at my house for the spa. Serendipitously, Mum wasn't home. It was the second consecutive Friday where I had the entire house to myself. I invited him to come in while I got dressed. He declined and chose to wait in the car instead.
The previous Friday, the Old Boy had also declined my invitation to come visit me despite light attempts of luring him with food (since he hasn't been eating well). I waited for his call until I could no longer do so since I would go stir crazy staying at home, hoping and waiting for him. I finally texted him, to which he promptly returned my call and said he was on his way home to his domestics. He must have noted my disappointment but attempted to lighten up the mood and tension on the phone. I began with asking him whineyly why he didn't ring me blah, blah where the echo from my empty house sounded to him on the other end of the line like a raised voice. Of which then, I buried my sad face in the cushion where I laid on the stiff Chinese sofa and mumbled sadly.
In the past, I am sure that the Old Boy would been excited at the opportunity of entering my house where there are enough rooms (I could think of six non-out-of -bound ones), nooks and crannies for us to get up to some serious hanky pankering. It also helps that all the windows in my house are tinted. Three-stories of fun. There are so many ideas for some real play-the dining table, the baby grand piano, the bath tub, my room where my toys are kept. The list goes on...
I have never ever really invited or proposed for a guy to enter my house for intimacy. I find that rather disrespectful to my parents. Even the ex-lover, M was invited as a guest to stay at my house when he visited Singapore.
I didn't know what I was hoping I could get out of the Old Boy coming to my place, perhaps just hoping that maybe we could be together in a private place where I could put my head on his shoulder and hold him tight. I didn't dare think about the rest. I would be elated for him to take me back as his girl again.
(Dear Readers, more stupidity to come from this Compulsive Gambler later in Part 2.)
