Rules of Attraction.

In the words of Evil Ash. "I live... again."

The suspension of posting was a bit more brutal and persistent than I had anticipated or hoped for. Happily, the conditions that made me so elusive have mostly been sorted out. It's about bloody time too. I've fuckin' missed posting.

I could embark upon some of the encounters I've had with customers over the last fortnight or so, but I've been silent for so long, I feel like I should kick out something a bit more thought provoking or at least salacious. In that vein, I've been mulling over the hows and whys of what sort of woman captures my attention. What sort of femme fatale persists in pouring thermite into the blast furnace of my lusts?

Broken ones.

Give me a leggy lass in a short skirt and heels, and you'll have me distracted. Give me a girl with large eyes boldly outlined with heavy black and my attention will follow her like a kite in a gale. But give me a woman with the right mix of emotional shrapnel, and I will throw myself after her like a manic-depressive moth chasing a bug-zapper the size of Nebraska, with much the same results.

And I have to ask myself why the bloody custard-filled hell would I do that to myself? Is my internal wiring totally fragged? Would this perhaps be some odd form of emotional death-wish?

At one point, I thought that it might just be a bad imprint upon my psyche. That something in my childhood hand left a mortally flawed template of attraction in my subconscious. It still is seductively attractive to accept as an answer. After all, it divorces me from the process. I can be the innocent enduring the stamp of another's misuse. All I must do is stretch forth my mental hand and claim that excuse, and suddenly the responsibility is lifted from my shoulders.
I don't like that. I care not for some crutch to justify my maintenance of a lack of understanding. Consequently, I've worried and picked at the chaotic snarl of my attraction seeking to discern some pattern. Within the last few years, I believe I have ferreted out the secret; qualities do not exist in a vacuum.

For example, I appreciate a woman who exhibits more introverted tendencies. A woman who is content with her own company. An attractive woman hanging around the edges of a party is often times much more intriguing to me than the woman who moves in the spotlight. There are very good reasons for this facet of my attraction. Such a woman tends to spend a lot of time in her own head. Odds are excellent that she reads a great deal, she'll usually be quite adept in a private conversation. Her attention is usually less diffused than her more social number.

However, her aloofness may be born of anxiety or discomfort. She may view the world from a horribly distorted perspective. This woman could very easily lack confidence to approach anyone for fear of being intrusive or uninteresting. There are myriad factors which can contribute to why any particular woman would present such an aspect to her personality.

The issue is made all the more difficult by the fact it is all but impossible to render my impressions into coherent, logical quantifiables. I'm examining something that operates outside of conscious thought or even language. I can, with practice, recognize certain "flavors" of interest within myself. Even more sorely priced understanding has forged a linkage between gut reaction and such qualities as passive-aggression, inability to communicate, and cultivation of drama.

Now I just have to figure out why I seem to be so attractive to women who are so lethal to my inner peace and emotional health.