I should do this now. I am not entirely sure where my phone is right now, even though I know I had it yesterday after leaving work. I don’t have it now of course. No phone means focus, but even the piddling work I might be doing while I sit has been pulled for others to do so I am as per usual, flailing.
It’s been over two weeks now since I heard from the Nicknameless Man. I know how this goes. I know it down to the last detail, at least, from the other side of the mirror. To be straightforward with y’all, I am really regretful about it. I care, I mean, I do care. It’s a present tense thing. I don’t, at this juncture, think it has anything actually to do with me. There were a lot of things that he mentioned might cause a long break in conversation and I thought it was coming and then when it didn’t, I thought that it wouldn’t. So maybe this is it, or maybe, this is, as they say, it.
Of course, half the reason for these rambling posts is creating irony so that I look like a fool if I get another out of the blue email. Because ironic hoc ergo propter hoc or something? I can make it happen by creating a field of ironic possibility. This is the tattered cloth I’m working with here. We are slowly becoming unbound. Two weeks is two weeks. If you like a girl, even a girl who could wait you under the table, you don’t wait two weeks to check-in. He could be dead for all I know…
What I’m annoyed about is there is no basis for me to even be annoyed if this ever picks up again. It might, probably not, but it might. I won’t even let myself be irritated if it does, though. I’d be like a giddy little puppy and I find that to be a rather lame discovery about myself. Because honestly, fine, I’m not going to die about it, but I was kicking down doors, throwing open windows, inviting everyone and the Queen in for tea. I was gearing myself up for it. And I’m not taking care of myself, I’m not behaving, I’m not progressing in the interim because I have no closure on it. The connection is still open, still waiting on tenterhooks to learn whether or not we’re going to have to become new sorts of people.
There’s other little stories I ought to pay attention to now, anyway. My beloved aunt’s cancer is returned, small, but enough. Now all the niggling worries have borne fruit and things have to be done. I don’t know enough to know what kind of things these things are, but I know they’re unnecessary. She was perfectly fine and with plans and this is…a waste of time.
Tomorrow: taxes, a party for my crazy (possibly less so now) retired ex-co-worker. Getting on with it.