Thinking Back

This week has brought countless comparisons with 8 years ago. I don't know a lot of the Obama people, but when I find out about them, it's all good. 8 years ago, I didn't know who Bush's people were, but their records terrified me.

But, the real comparison for me, is 14-10 years ago, when Edmund was my best friend and I couldn't figure out what to do. I spent 4 years thinking we'd end up together. 4 years talking with him for 20 hours a week (or more!) on the phone, doing all the silly little things that couples do. And I swore I'd never do that again.

But you know what they say makes God laugh? Humans making plans. So here I am in a very similar situation.

I haven't figured out the role of this blog if John is in my life. I asked him to pick whether he'd read it or not, so at least I'd know, and he hasn't. But he said he isn't reading it right now.

Sometimes I feel like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction (not that I've seen the movie, but she's the scary stalker chick I always think of).

Sometimes I wonder if John would be more interested in me if I weren't so interested in him. I should go buy a copy of The Rules and stop just being myself. But that would wreck what I like so much about him--our honesty. Our clarity. Our vitality.

Deep down, my fear is that that he wishes he were attracted to me. He thinks it would be ideal if only I were prettier. He has never said anything to make a smidgen of evidence that that is the case. He has, on numerous occasions, complimented me looks. He takes photos of me that make me look lovely. But I can't think of any other reason that we wouldn't want to give this a try.

We have similar ways of finding joy. Similar ways of killing time. Our minds think in mutually simpatico ways. He's more visual than I am, far more able to frame an image and desiring to capture it (I've never been out with him when he hasn't taken his camera out, and he takes beautiful photos.) But on the stuff that matters--we're both introspective on a path that is parallel although not synonymous with psychoanalysis. Self-psychoanalysis if you will. We're both bright. Neither of us owns a TV. We both have an intellectual curiosity that is more focused on breadth than depth, although we both burrow in depth in whatever interests us that season and then move on. We both make silly puns. We find these silly/awkward moments when all the wiitwd stuff floods a moment with a second meaning and we're aware of it, but we never let that overwhelm everything else. Wiitwd is a subtextual spice--it is not the main ingredient. But I don't have to deny that part of me or feel like I must protect that vulnerability. It is safe to be vulnerable with him. Being with him is joyous.

He is thoughtful and playful and kind and considerate. He is a good man with an evil streak and he knows it and delights in it, and I believe would absolutely protect me from it.

I go deeper when I'm with him. And unlike any man I've ever been with, I don't self-censor. I didn't self-censor with my ex, but mostly that was because he didn't care much. I realized, I couldn't give him my blog URL because he wouldn't read it when it wasn't that much about him, and that would hurt.

So it is odd that I want to know whether John is reading this. And it is because I do self-censor with John. Not a lot, but a little. I think in some ways he takes for granted that he could have me anytime he wanted and I want to preserve a little mystery. A little semblance of having my life together. Of being intrigued without being obsessed. Not that I'm obsessed, but I am definitely smitten. OK, maybe I'm a little obsessed.

I have no idea if we're supposed to live happily ever after (although, if it were the two of us, I expect we wouldn't exactly qualify for the "No-Drama Obama" administration), but I just believe that we are supposed to be together. I don't know for how long. Maybe a month. Who knows?

But there is some reluctance on his part that I just don't understand. Twice now he has gone with someone else instead of me. I understood the first time. I don't understand the second time, and if it happens a third time, I'll be devastated, and far less capable, I fear, of opening up to another person. Not that I ever plan to get to know someone the way I got to know John. But I'm sure that certainity just makes God laugh.