2004-04-27 - 12:23 a.m.

Home Ec for Psychological Disasters

I bought a vacuum cleaner for the first time in my life today, as well as a stereo, three pairs of socks, and some albums I've not heard before.

The house is clean, the trash is out, the dishes are done, the floor is swept and mopped (courtesy of the new mop), and the albums are quietly spinning their random-shuffle way through the three-disc changer in the stereo -- an entirely new thing for me. There's a breeze blowing through the house now that's the perfect temperature, and I think I'll see if she wants to go out tonight; after all, the skies are clear and the temperature's right.

I'm going to try to clear the air between us tonight and get things straightened out. I don't want to complicate her life, but she's perceptive enough that I'm going to just by being conflicted and minorly uncomfortable around her if I don't tell her. And she'll know anyway, but won't say anything, and we can go around being comically ill-at-ease and never get anywhere. Or I can ignore the butterflies in my stomach even thinking about this and actually take a step forward after a real person instead of a fantasy-filler from the online world -- wow.

I'm nervous as fuck, I'll say it flat out. I've been with several people, lived with two different women, routinely slept with four times as many. And I've only ever taken that step forward with a real flesh-and-blood person that I have become progressively more acquainted with and grown to respect, admire, and want twice. That was nine years ago.

There was a birthday party tonight that she and I organized -- mostly her, but I did what I could to find ways to help. She said my pants look good on me. The little comments stick out in my head, and I'm having trouble breathing regularly.

Hello, I like you, please excuse me while I have an asthma attack.

Awhile ago she and I were talking about our days, and I mentioned visiting a friend of mine that I've not seen in about a year, who happens to be female. Bringing cigarettes and saying hello and reestablishing the old connections and whatnot; truth be told, she's fun to talk to, and I really need someone I used to know back when to tell me if I'm different now before I jump feet-first into this. She said abruptly that at least she could settle the side-bets some others who know us had on whether or not I was seeing anyone -- and sounded bitter.

I think I cleared that up okay at the time. I've no remaining romantic interest in Catherine, and I have quite a sizeable amount in this Other. Quite an uncomfortable amount, really; I'm not used to liking anyone even half this much, and it's very disorientating. I want to be impressive and reliable and helpful and everything I've not been in the past, and it's all very active and specific when I sit and think about it, like I've got a cheat-sheet for what I ought to be.

...and you know, I do. Tip of the hat to past failures and years spent digesting them, thanks to them I've an exhaustive guide to what not to do.

But to that comment. That's my opening, and that's my leverage on myself that I can use to force the subject when I'm this jittery even thinking about the words out of context.

"I just wanted to clear this up, before you come inside, because I wouldn't want you to feel stuck there out of politeness or anything. I'm not seeing anyone, and if I were I'd want it to be you. I don't want to complicate your life, but you can make your own decisions. I like you a lot. Thanks for being you."

Which I think says pretty much everything that needs to get out in that first fevered rush of verbiage. It's 12:40AM, and I have maybe twenty minutes left before I collapse the supposition of states that I normally exist in -- all the possibilities I never try and all the people I never take a closer look at -- down to that one moment. Take all those options and all the hope I've invested in them and collapse it down in five minutes, then hand it to someone else and let them do what they want to do with it.

She might throw it away. This might very well be one of those one-sided attractions that are so uncomfortable to watch other people take part in. In twenty-eight minutes I may very well be smoking alone inside while I try to think of a way to keep going like this, to keep caring what happens to me and to keep caring about how much I enjoy life and what I can do to make it better.

I just don't know what to expect. I can't see past this choice. Be damned if that's going to stop me though.

dilige et quod vis fac

...there's an engine outside that may be hers. Here's the UPS guy come to take Schroedinger's cat away, hope they're home.

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