Over Lunch

Sometimes there are those things that just eat at you. You don’t talk about them, because it’s stupid. You’re just being selfish and stubborn in your misrepresentation of the situation. By letting it bother you, you’re being unfair. You stuff it down by telling yourself you’re overanalyzing and it’s all just water under the bridge; it’s just dirt on the road a few hundred miles back. But it still bugs you, popping up between thoughts; while walking to lunch, while biking home.

Maybe it’s that I don’t know how it feels, a lack of similar experience within to place my understanding. I’ve never had that night before. It seems that people aren’t attracted to me until they talk to me for weeks on end; until I can finesse affection out of them with conversation. Even so, it’s always been just that, conversation. Am I jealous or something? I mean, it’s not for lack of opportunity; I’ve been there, only to watch her leave with another guy, not even noticing who I was. Other times, I saw the two of them before it happened, and so I left in a drunken stupor to wander home on my own. It ultimately spared me the embarrassment.

Maybe I should just get used to being “relationship guy” instead of anything else; I mean really, is that so bad? I’m certainly good at it.

Maybe it’s just that I wasn’t expecting it. We’ve talked a lot about all this stuff before, in great length, and it’s never come up; not a trace of it. Early on you create little barriers for it, so when it comes up later, you’ve already prepared yourself. I had gotten used to the other stuff long ago, created my barriers. I didn’t have my barrier ready for this one.

Maybe it’s just that it makes me go: “what else is there that I haven’t heard about?” I mean, obviously there are other things; I would be very naïve to imagine the opposite. But when nothing comes up for a long period of time, you just don’t care; and really, that’s how it should be all the time. I would never dream of asking her about anything, it’s not right; it’s none of my business and it’s just fucking rude. Even if, I trust that she has her own reasons for not telling me; either because she knows it will bother me, or because it really and simply just isn’t important to either of us.

It’s not like it affects how I feel about her. I love her more then I could possibly fit into a sentence; so what does it matter?

It’s just that moment: you’re sitting on the street-car; a line from a dumb song pokes the little idea open again. So you bring it out and you brood about it, coming up with a million crazy ideas that lead to two million other crazy ideas…

Maybe it’s simply all a confirmation that I’m a fucking head-case.

I’m going with that last option there; it seems to make the most sense.