A Nibble of Flesh

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The day after Christmas. Mostly, not much happened which, I suppose, was mostly the plan.

I did talk with the guy.  Again, less than before, though it was not exactly planned.  A bit of laundry, a bit of making the bed and some video games and I got lost in all of it until he sent me a message asking why I was so quiet and while I said it was because I had this and that and the other to do (which I do – I want this week to be about accomplishing things, certainly, and setting up my plans and pantry and will to make a big enough change in the new year), it was really about not appearing as though I cared.  Not being so garishly vulnerable when I don’t know that the vulnerability is reciprocated or part of this or if it’s just a person being nice to me and I have invented a pathway to them caring romantically about me that I don’t want to go down if it has been paved right off a cliff.

Which I cannot tell if it’s the officially wrong thing to do or if even the bit that we do talk feels overweening and reeks of desperation.  Gee, that sounds really good.  Really fascinating.  Oh, cool. You wanna go to a weenie roast next Saturday? That’s…reeking is an aggressive and negative way to put it.  I just know what it is to be made to float in a conversation now and again that you can’t extricate yourself from.   I do not want to do that to someone else.  It’s just odd.  I am trying to gauge everything, as expected, and the machines are not giving me sensible readings.

All of this could be dealt with by me asking a few simple questions and I’m trying to figure out an elaborate plan so as to ask those questions and not appear as though I am a total stumbling fool.

What I want to say is, hey, we sort of threw ourselves right into talking – is there…like, anything, that needs to be said? But that’s a bizarre nebulous thing to intone out of the blue.  Do you need to tell me that you like me or something?  Can I just say that without any particular tangible reason aside from your being willing to converse with me that I like you or something? Can you just let me know if you’re secretly also talking to other women that you like more and who know what tone to use with you and that in a month or so you’ll announce to me that you’re going to make a go at it with them but I’m really great and will find someone just as great, you know, eventually?

All of a sudden I am twelve years old again.

There just wasn’t flirting today or things that could be bent and fluffed and molded to look like flirting.

I read one of those indie girlfriend/boyfriend webcomics where the gist was the more people hang out together or are around each other a lot, the more they tend to like one another.  So, the plan is just to keep on…awkwardly extending my hand. I am fine waiting for ages if I know that the plan is to wait for ages.  I am fine sitting on the stoop for an hour if I know there’s a bus scheduled.

Somehow, I just want it to occur organically like a weed that just pushes its way through a stone.

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