April 20, 2018

pull the other one, it's got bells on

You know that thick silence and stillness and increase in static electricity that comes right before a powerful thunderstorm hits and knocks down three of your trees and scares the shit out of your dogs?  That's how I feel right now.

Somethin' ain't right here.

Lille's preoccupation with her object has gone from a nine to a two.  It's been that way since last Friday.  This never normalizes this quickly.  At no point in my life has that happened, not for the genuine article.  My record is roughly two months.

What I have done differently is, I've been successful at avoiding well-worn triggers like checking e-mail every forty-two seconds, contacting the person based on impulse instead of a legit, organic flow, and intentionally engaging in attention fantasy, preferring the idea of the person, which Lille can manipulate as she pleases, to the real person.  I prefer the real one this time.  Maybe I'm getting time off for good behavior?

If this is genuinely done and dusted, then I don't think the credit is due me.  The person's understanding and accommodation have been nothing short of prodigious.  That's a new variable in the equation.  A well-pitched curve ball.

But I still don't trust the change in me.  For the past week, I've been stuffing my mouth with whatever is at hand, sweet or crunchy or bread-y or even marginally edible.  Salad isn't in it.  I really do think my brain has swapped addictions and is capable of swapping them back for its own undisclosed purposes, probably with a vengeance, just as soon as I choose to get the eating under control, which must happen and happen quickly.

Case in point:  The person and I were supposed to have coffee together yesterday.  Not only was I not thinking about this every single moment with angst and anticipation (the way I did the first time we met for coffee), instead perceiving it merely as a pleasant thing to look forward to later in the week ... which is absolutely not normal at all and makes me raise an eyebrow at the food thing ... but we also had to cancel at the last minute, for some good reasons, and instead of being devastated and Lille feeling all rejected and abandoned and gasping for air, I was actually an adult about it, with normal feelings of mild disappointment, understanding, and the ability to forget about it fairly easily.  There will be another one and I feel patient.

That's the point.  No one, in even the most far-fetched of circumstances, has ever accused me of being patient about a thing.  I fear my brain is trying to trick me.  I keep holding my hand to my forehead, peering into the distance, looking for the storm clouds.  I'm due.  I have to pay.  I always pay.

I don't know what to make of this.  The preoccupation feels like it's transitioned to a healthy friendship, the best of all possible worlds, and I'm thinking that's a Halloween costume, except that it's April.  Gratitude wants to burst forth, and fondness, and eagerness to know and be known, but they're held back by suspicion.

It's too risky to hope for the reprieve.  *smacks table*  I call bullshit.  Pull the other one.

No comments:

Post a Comment