Sunday, November 28, 2010

Obsession is not just a sweet scent

I am obsessed. I am very aware of my obsession. I am also abundantly aware that the object of my obsession is not worth my time and effort. But somewhere inside me, I can't let go. I don't know if it is because this obsession started more than twenty years ago or if it because I have no one else in my life. But either way, I am fixated on one man. One man, who if I probably broke it down, does not really have any of the elements I am looking for. That doesn't seem to matter. What I have conceived in my head about who this man is, could not possibly be true. And logically I know that I should get over him, but I am like some sick drug addict who just goes back for more even though I know when I come down from the high I am going to be miserable.

So once again I reached out. I told this man I would be in his town over the weekend. He replied that I should let him know where I would be hanging out. The logical side of me knew that he was blowing me off when he didn't make definitive plans but the teenage girl side of me was thrilled that he would consider meeting me out. So night one, and I texted to let him know where I was. He debated. He hemmed. He hawed. I found some pride and told him to forget it, I was leaving. I was sad.

A couple nights passed. I thought about him. A lot. I really have a problem and probably need to see some one. Not a professional but another man. But since that is not happening, I will obsess some more.

Last night of the weekend and again I found myself going out with some friends and texting him and telling where we would be. He asked who was there. I responded. He said he was coming over. Butterflies. I had butterflies in my stomach. What the hell is wrong with me? He is not butterfly worthy. My good and kind friend made sure there was an empty seat right next to me. She did this even though I know she thinks I am completely mad for obsessing over this man. And then he was there. He said his hellos, looked directly at the seat next to me and moved on. Yes, he moved on. Away from me.

So for the next hour he spoke to everyone but me. He didn't even look at me. I felt like the Elephant Man. A hideous human being that people can't even glance at. I was pissed. I was disappointed. I was realistic. Where did I think this evening was really going to go? Was he going to profess his love for me? No of course not. But it would have been nice for him to ask me how I was doing.

And then the evening was over. We all made our way to the door. We said our goodbyes. He lingered. I lingered. I wondered if he was lingering on purpose or just felt some weird obligation to to hang back with me. We chatted very briefly. I hugged him goodbye. I resisted to urge to tell him I love him. I drove home.

Now any logical, smart, grounded person would look at this situation and say 'He clearly is not at all interested in you and you should just move on'. And I completely agree. But I am not at all sane. I am convinced that if the stars align just so, and if the wind blows softly and the crickets chirp beautifully and I provide him with an abundance of alcohol, he will be mine. But sadly I have neither the courage or the gumption to act on any of these thoughts. Something about this man makes me a weak, giggly teenage girl. It's stupid. He is not that special.

I should move. I should let him go. I should wise up. But I can't. Because after all I am 42 and single.