Message FROM Karen


Well, hey, I finally got a reaction from Karen.  I had asked her to just email one word, like “No” and she’d never hear from me again.  She didn’t respond, hasn’t responded to anything I’ve written her, which is response enough, but being the hard-headed type, I wanted to hear it from her that she really wanted nothing to do with me anymore.  We had been friends for years at work, eating lunch once a week together. At first, it was a simple friendship, despite a big gap in our ages.  We talked about anime, and Sci Fi, and writers we liked, and the world of animation, comics and manga.  We traded books and videos.  It was great.  I was, unfortunately, married when I met her.  Before long, however, I was in love with her.  We stayed friends, even after I was divorced.  She considered the idea of the two of us meeting outside of work to have dinner, or seeing a movie together, as dating, and dating was, in her word: inappropriate.

Still, up until I left that job, we still ate lunch together, but the weekly ritual had lessened to an average of every other week, sometimes less, sometimes more, depending on her work schedule.  That was fine.  I missed the regularity of our lunches, but I was still in love, albeit unrequited, a strange state of being, an alternate reality where there was a slight chance we might connect some day, even though I knew how unlikely it was.  The psychology people call it limerence.  I was crazy, basically.  I felt I got over it, and let Karen know what my feelings had been all along, how I’d gotten over it, and how I wanted to resume our normal lunches.  By this time she seemed to be avoiding me.  After that, she was avoiding me, even to the extent of spinning on her heels and going the other way.  Well, I left that job anyway, so I didn’t see her again.

I didn’t, however, stop thinking about her.  Recently I watched a fascinating movie, Mary & Max, about an older man in New York with severe Asperger’s Syndrome who ends up as a pen pal to a little girl in Australia.  Despite the difference in ages, they strike up a real friendship, and write regularly.  It is a great comfort to both, because neither have any other friends.  Well, I bought a copy and had it sent to Karen.  I wanted her to watch it.  Unfortunately, after I did that, I noticed that, although the movie was in English, it was only formatted to play in Australia.  I quickly sent Karen an email, saying I’d made a mistake, but maybe she could still view it in her computer’s DVD drive.   Not getting a reply, I found another copy online, and had it shipped to her.  This time I made sure it was the correct region for US DVD players.  No word from her.  After a period of time, I was going to write to her, ask if we could be friends again, just like Mary and Max, writing each other, and sharing events in our lives, what we were reading, watching and doing. Her 30th birthday is approaching, and I was going to wish her a Happy Birthday also.  Hell, I thought, maybe she wouldn’t think I was a pervert anymore. Yeah, she’s way younger than me, but it wouldn’t be that perverse of me to be interested in a sexy 30-year-old woman.  I mean, she is an adult, right?

Today, wonder of wonders, I got a package from Karen.  I knew what it was before I opened it: the two DVDs.  Sure enough, they were both in there, and neither had been opened at all.  She hadn’t even thought enough of me, or is so disgusted with me, that she didn’t even try to watch the movie.  And, a note fell out with the movies:

Well, that was plain enough, even for someone like me.  I just had to have it spelled out clearly, without any possibility of misinterpretation.  Thanks Karen. Message for Karen.

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NO MORE ILLUSIONS PLEASE


Love is many things
or nothing

Love stinks
Love sucks
Unrequited love
is worst of all

I get confused

If I’m sexually attracted
I fall in love
greedily, needily
If I like someone
I love the company
If I am lonely
I love desperately

There are so many ways
to love
so many ways for love
to end

Which is real
which illusion?
Is love real
or just a myth?

We pretend we know
it feels like it’s so
How can it be real
if it ends?

If it ends
Did it
ever
really exist?

Perhaps
perhaps all I
really want
is
a lover sometimes
a friend sometimes
a companion
sometimes

and that’s all?

Perhaps
perhaps
perhaps

Perhaps I
don’t need
love
at all.

Bicochitos and Beer


December 28, 2009

My blog had abandonment issues.  Ha!  I have not been posting lately.  I’m not sure why.  No compulsion to write I suppose. Having retired means several things:

1.) I no longer see Karen, even accidentally.  There is no possibility of ever seeing her accidentally or otherwise.  I sent her an email before I left my job; told her it was going to be my last Friday there.   She said: “Was at a potluck/staff meeting today just got back, and now have to do my document run.” Accepting that, I decided, three weeks later, to ask if she’d like to meet for lunch anyway.  I figured that, since she used to come in just to have lunch with me, before she got the job she has now, then perhaps I could do the same, and go there just to have lunch with her.  No response at all this time.

So, I’ve finally had to give up the fantasy for good.  I don’t understand why she responded to the previous email at all, if she was going to ignore me anyway.

2.) My life is pretty boring now.  I either get up early and laze around, drinking coffee and doing nothing, or I turn over and go back to sleep, getting up late, and then having coffee, making something to eat, and checking the mail.  Sometimes I have to run to the store, or to the Post Office when someone buys something from my Half.com, eBay, or Amazon accounts.  Most weekends, I will go hike in the mountains Saturday or Sunday.  Lately I do easier hikes.  Only hiked three hours yesterday, climbed up about 1650 feet; no danger, reasonable pace, no exhaustion. Donated blood today.

3.) No works means no tension, no stress. See #2 above.  I eat when I want, sleep when I want. I read, watch movies, or play games on Facebook.  Once in a while I still pick up the guitar. My life has little meaning without a purpose.  No more union meetings.  No worrying about other people’s problems, or the union, or the University job, or the University itself.

4.) I met someone new, much closer to my age.  We’ve hiked together. We’ve eaten sushi together.  We watched movies together.  No romance. No sex. Just friends, like Karen must have always expected me to be.  She invited me to her house for Thanksgiving. I met her mother. After her mother went home, we watched TV movies until late, and then I went home.  We made a batch of beer together one week later.  When it was time to bottle it on Dec. 20, we met at the brewery, had a great time bottling, and split up our beer.  She had been planning to make some more cookies but changed her mind.  I said I wanted to make chocolate chip cookies and had all the ingredients.  We dropped off my share of the beer at my house and picked up everything I had for the cookies.  Back at her house, we had eggnog with rum, and I made the cookies while eating some of her biscochitos.   I had just received an old Hitchcock mystery, so we watched that when the cookies were done, had some more eggnog, and then watched another old movie on her cable until we were falling asleep. No indication from her that she wanted me to stay.  It was really late, but she clearly expected me to go.  Gave me some biscochitos to go, and a present!  She had a present for me.  She said to put it under my tree.  Unknown to her, I had bought her a present.  It was/is under my tree.  She asked me if I wanted to go to her friend Kathy’s house on Christmas Eve.  So, I planned to open my present then, and give her the one I’d ordered and wrapped and put under my tree.  I was beginning to have some nice fantasies about her.  Wondered if we could go to my house after we left Kathy’s, since it is only blocks from my house.  Wondered what might happen.  She has such a pleasant voice when she calls me; she seems to like me, to want to talk to me.

Stupid me. Just before I left her house the night after making beer and cookies, I tried to kiss her good-night.  She turned away, and my lips brushed her forehead.  Didn’t hear anything from her for days.  Finally called her, just to see what time we should meet and where on Christmas Eve.  She didn’t answer, so I left a message.  She returned my call next day; said she wasn’t going to her friend Kathy’s after all.  She said her mom wanted her to come by and help her cook a Christmas turkey and help her with other things.  I asked if she wanted to come by after that.  Interestingly, her mother lives just down the street from me.  This is the neighborhood she grew up in.   She said she didn’t think so, since she would have to go back to her mother’s house early in the morning to help her out some more.  She said she’d call me, let me know about getting together.

She never called.  I left her another message on Christmas day.  Wished her a Merry Christmas. Asked about getting together to open presents. No response.  Next day I left another phone message. I invited her to come by for her present; told her I didn’t want to open mine until she came by.  No response.  The weekend ended.  Today I sent her an email, asking her what’s up.  Told her I was still waiting for her to get her present before I opened mine. Apologized if my attempted kiss had offended her.  If she hadn’t taken offense, then I asked if she’d like to go dancing on New Year’s Eve.  We had previously talked about going Salsa dancing but haven’t done so yet.  No response.  Perhaps the 14-year difference is still too big of a gap for a relationship?

It’s not a tragedy, unlike Karen’s total disaffection for me – that hurt a lot, even more than my divorce.  I’m saddened, but not that much.  I do wish women could say what’s really on their minds.  I wish I knew what it was about me that made women want to break away clean, without even giving me a reason or ever wanting any further contact.  Ha! Women, it seems, are like life itself.  Things in life often happen for no reason at all.  Why should women be any different?

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

UPDATE: 12/29/09

Well, I heard something after all:

Sorry I have not been in touch (i.e. returning your phone calls).  Christmas was very hectic, trying to help my mom, etc.  In fact, I was so exhausted on xmas day that I didn’t stay out too late, I just went home.  I have just been laying low; I still feel exhausted and I have a sore throat – I feel like I’m coming down with something.  I might take a day off this week before New Year’s to rest.   I normally don’t do much for New Year’s Eve.  I just stay out of drunk drivers way.  My friend Gaby is coming out for the weekend from CO and I think we are just going to hang out at my place.   We will get together as soon as I feel better.

So, I opened the present she’d given me: 64 small chocolate bottles with various liquors, like Jack Daniels Old No. 7, Cutty Sark, Grand Marnier, Cointreau, etc.  The best looking thing is probably the Borghetti Caffe Espresso (31% alcohol).  What is so very odd, is that my old girlfriend, who introduced me to her, also gave me a Xmas present of 48 chocolate bottles in a little wooden crate: Jim Beam, Stoli’s, Remy Martin, and Grand Marnier. Very cool stuff, but now I have 112 of these things, and I don’t drink much anymore.  Perhaps my step-daughter can help me with these things.


Sex, guns and Peru, Part 3


I had not heard of Machu Picchu before coming to Peru.  MacLaine If I had read Shirley MacLaine’s 1983 book, Out On a Limb, popular at the time, I would have known that she was among many others who traveled to Peru hoping for a spiritual experience in Maccu Picchu.  She even claimed to have encountered an alien presence there that was trying to persuade Earthlings of the need for spirituality.  Very popular place.  I wasn’t aware of any of that at the time, but Elsie’s sister asked me why I wasn’t going to Maccu Picchu.  Well, to begin with, even after I found out about it, I didn’t have enough money.  It turned out that train travel was severely restricted because of the fighting in Peru, and I wouldn’t be able to take the train, which I could have afforded.  So, I called my companion from the flight down there.  I told him I was ready to sell the gun.  0.38 He showed up the same day and brought me a padlock. He said to put it on the gun to prevent it from being used.  He told me he had a friend in P.I.P., the Peruvian Intelligence Police, who might buy it.   A couple days later, he was back with $200.  I gave him the gun.  Somehow, I hadn’t imagined it ending up in the hands of some Peruvian-style FBI, but so it goes. I had just gotten double what I paid for the little RPG 0.38 from Florida.

Of course, to fly to, and feed and board two people at Machu Picchu, I needed more money than that.  I had received a credit card not long before I left, and had only used it as a second form of ID for checks in the US.  Driver’s licenses had been forged so much they were no longer enough of an ID at many places I tried to write checks.  That is beside the point of course.  Fact is, I had a credit card with enough of a line of credit to fly two people from Lima to Cuzco.  I decided I had to take Elsie with me, after how nicely I was being treated by her family.   My new plan was to take a bus to some towns near Cuzco while I was there.  Unfortunately, I found the bus terminal in Cuzco also closed by the military.  The town I most wanted to see, Paucartambo, with its exceptionally white houses and beautiful blue balconies, was too close to the fighting anyway.

First, however, Elsie and I needed a place to stay.  There were fancy, high-priced tourist hotels, but I’d been advised to look for a penseon,  a bed & breakfast in Peru.  We indeed got a room with a single bed, and breakfast in the morning so we could eat before exploring.  I did not have sex with Elsie. She wanted to know why.  I told her I didn’t want to risk getting her pregnant.  She said she would be willing to get a diaphragm, if I understood her correctly. diaphram Next morning, however, we boarded the train that would take us up the mountain to Machu Picchu.  It took half the day.  Elsie was very happy.  She chatted with the other tourists, who were mostly Peruvians and Germans, and a few Japanese.  We were served yerba mate, as a stimulant to brace us for the high altitude.  People often pass out up there.   There were many stops along the way, and, in fact, the train took a route created with many switchbacks, so it seemed we were forever just going back and forth.  Indian women would rush aboard at every short stop, selling trinkets and odd meatless tamales, and then hop off again.  An interesting character got on at one quick stop.  He was dressed in a very colorful poncho, with the odd-looking, to me, wool hat, with the tassel-like thing on top.  PeruIndian He stayed with us, and sang songs.  Most of the people in our car joined in.  I went along as much as I could fake it.  Later, as the singing died down, I asked Elsie what the songs were about.  She told me the the man was with the guerrillas, and the songs were about fighting and getting rid of the Peruvian government.  It was so odd.  The rich Peruvian tourists on board had been the most boisterous of anyone, and they had been smiling broadly while singing about revolution!  Yet, all I had heard since arriving was how terrible the guerrillas were.   A curious place, Peru.  Ha!  The President of the country was named Fernando Belaunde Terry.  Names are given differently in Peru, because Terry was the last name of his mother, an Englishwoman.  He was very pro-American, which was something the guerrillas hated.  They were, after all, Maoist inspired.  My name is Terry, so I often wondered about the looks I’d get from people whom Elsie introduced me to.  Did they think I was related?  Terry was otherwise not a common name in Peru, and since it was my middle name, I could see how people could suspect a connection.  cap Perhaps that was fortunate, since I wore a blue Mao cap, popular then in the US,  that I had oddly just bought and  brought with me, and wore all over Peru, no one ever questioned me, not even the ubiquitous soldiers with their machine guns, but it was always a possibility.  I’ve never been very bright.

Peru 007 Peru 008

Machu Picchu impressed the hell out of me.  I had never known anything about it, so the huge stone blocks used in walls and bridges, cut so perfectly and laid without any mortar, were eye popping.  I marveled at the shapes and “sacrificial altars” and the Solar Clock, and the Temple of the Three Windows, amid all the houses that still stood.  I had lain block myself for a couple years, so I knew about the foundation requirements under the block walls, and the need for reinforcing bars (rebar) and perfectly mixed mortar for the climate.  Yet, these people had built really impressive structures without any of that.

The views from the mountain top were breathtaking, really, notwithstanding the 8000 feet above sea level.  I’m not sure why people thought it so high as to cause respiratory and heart problems, since I lived a mile high myself, and ridden my bicycle to the local mountaintop at 10,679 feet.  But anyway, we had a great view of the river just below us. The train had stopped at the base of the peak, and we had then boarded vans that took us up the narrow path at frightening speed to the top. Peru 009 From there I could still see the pylons of the old Incan bridge that withstand the river’s current to this day, without anything holding the stones together.   I was high though, like being stoned or drunk.  I had heard of such wonders before, but not expected to see them.  I was damn happy to be visiting such a  place.  I ran through the ruins of the old Incan village. Peru 005 One small building had been restored with wooden cross beams and a thatch roof, and it looked readily inhabitable.  I wished I could have slept in it.  Elsie seemed to enjoy herself too.  Elsie001 That’s her among the ruins.  Sadly, I was not able to stay the night.  There is a hotel there, but reservations were made even then months in advance.  The train had to leave around dinnertime, because it had to go all the way back down to Cusco, that excruciating four-hour trip to cover five miles.  Well, traveling with Elsie made it all worthwhile; she was ever smiling and full of energy.  I depended on her a lot.  As we approached Cusco, the train slowed down to a crawl and I was able to look into all the shop windows of the big market along the tracks.  In one room, all by themselves, stacked high on a single table, were huge clear plastic bags of white powder.  I had heard that cocaine was a big money maker for the government there, but I never expected to see so much all at once, and so openly.  Of course, I could be mistaken.  It could have been some other sacks of white powder stacked on a table by themselves in a bare room, but who knows?

Elsie and I were tired by then and headed back to the penseon.  The owner found us something to eat leftover from breakfast, but only because we had left so early for the train that we had missed breakfast.  Those huge meatless corn tamales on the train were not very satisfying.

Next day, after a little touring around Cusco, Elsie and I went to  the local clinic.  She seemed enthusiastic about being able to have sex without getting pregnant, and I wasn’t going to insist we just use condoms, because that didn’t always work either, and like most men, I hated them.  Very selfish of me, and really inconsiderate to allow my host to do such a thing in order to have sex with me.  Really, I didn’t want to get too involved with her, so I had postponed the sex in this manner.  At the clinic Elsie explained what she wanted and went into a room adjoining the waiting room with the smiling doctor.  Later, he showed up at the door, and the first thing he did was stare at me.  The look showed surprise and, I felt, censure.  His smile was gone.  It occurred to me that he had found her hymen intact and may have wondered how we had sex if Elsie had mentioned that, or why I hadn’t broken the hymen myself.  I suddenly felt shamed.  Elsie was in some pain when she came out, so we just slept together again, cuddled in our small bed.  The next night however, was it.  Elsie was not going to postpone this sex anymore, and we finally had real sexual intercourse, the kind with the penetration and ejaculation and all that moaning and heavy breathing.  It was OK, but I didn’t want to do it again.  It just didn’t feel right.  Elsie was pretty upset when I didn’t want to do it again the next night, and that was understandable.

We continued our wanderings around Cusco.  I noticed a pile of adobe bricks drying in the hazy sunlight, and then saw them used in a  multi-story building, something rarely done in the Southwestern US  Peru 006 Peru 010 where I lived.

I found a colectivo to take us to Pisac, and the driver drove us up a long and winding road where we could look down on some Inca ruins there.  It was a long trip on a bumpy road, but I was glad to be able to see something else since we couldn’t travel in the region.  Soon enough, it was time to return to Lima.  I was out of money, and now in debt too.  I needed to get back to the US, back to Albuquerque.  Just before I had left for Peru, I’d met a really great woman, who I moved in with when I returned, and later married.  I called her from Cusco.  I told Elsie I needed to call home, but she listened in from what I thought was some distance away, and suspected it was a girlfriend.  I told her, yes, there was someone I was seeing there.  She wasn’t happy about that.   However, at that moment, I knew I wanted to get back.  I hadn’t known Irene very long, but I was anxious to see her again.  This, of course, had a lot to do with my lack of interest in Elsie as more than a friend.  The trip home was quiet.  I wondered what she was going to tell her parents.  I found out that, not only is Machu Picchu a popular tourist destination, but, in Peru, it’s a honeymoon spot, much like Niagara Falls is in the US.

Sex dream. Smuggling in Peru, Part 1


Weird dream about sex again.  I was visiting a woman in another country and was staying with her family (which I once did in Peru).  In this dream, it wasn’t that same woman, but she was young.  In Peru, the woman I visited turned out to be a virgin, but that’s another story.  In my dream, I was really interested romantically in this woman.  We had not had sex, or made out, but now was the time.  We ended up on a couch or bed and were wrapped around each other kissing.  Her blouse came open and I put my hands on her boobs, which were round and smooth. Her nipples were erect.  I was turned on, on, on!  I opened her shorts and put my hand on her mound, and as I did so, she said: “I like to touch myself there.”  I began fingering her.  Her cunt got juicy.  Talk about being turned on!  My penis was trying to break out of my pants, so I set it free,  I was working on getting her pants off when her two sisters came into the room.  They noticed us, but seemed uninterested in what we were doing, and went about whatever it was they were doing, chatting with each other.  I was suddenly watching myself!  I saw myself stand up, with a rock-hard erection, and people were walking around the room while I stood there.  I looked at myself and noticed the penis was very pale, and pointy, not like my own.  Weirder and weirder.  Then, her father came into the room!   He was also not shocked, but did speak to me.  He was speaking a language I didn’t understand, but smiling and gesturing to the young woman and me.  He stopped, pointed once more at the young woman, and said, in English, “Do you want to marry me?”  From this I understood he wanted to know if I wanted to marry his daughter, so I said yes. “Then ask her,” he said, pointing again at her.  I opened my mouth to ask, but starting remembering who I was and how I had been ready to do anything, go anywhere at one point recently, and then remembered that I have not felt any emotions lately, no passion for life or people.  I thought about how I probably shouldn’t get married, given my state of mind, and then there was a distraction, which I commented on, and we all seemed to be talking about something else.  I was still pondering the marriage question when I woke up.

peru.lima.jauja In my real life, in 1984, I had traveled to Peru to visit a pen-pal.  We had been writing for some time; she invited me to visit.  I had just lost my job.  It seemed the perfect time to travel, except I had no money.  The bank I used was the same one used by my employer, a printed circuit board manufacturer, and I had free checking there through some reciprocal agreement between my employers and the bank.  The company did a lot of work for airlines, NASA, and US weapons programs.   I told the loan officer I wanted money to travel to Peru.  He asked me how much I needed.  I asked for $800, since I knew the airfare was about $700.   I really didn’t want to get too much in debt.  I had a little money left in my checking account, so as I was at the airport waiting to board the plane, I called the bank and asked if I could get some more money.  The limit on money machine withdrawals was $100/day.  They asked me for my account number, which I somehow managed to remember, and they OK’d the increased amount.   I grabbed the extra money from the machine and boarded the plane for LA International Airport.  I had packed my 0.38 special.  The Sendero Luminoso, or “Shining Path” Maoist rebels were fighting a guerrilla war all over Peru, so I wanted the comfort a gun could give me.  shiningpath Then again, I was supportive of rebellions and guerrilla warfare at the time, so I thought I could even offer my gun to them if I ran into them on the long train ride I’d planned.   I had noticed a sign at check-in that said all firearms must be declared, so I did.  The counter person seemed shocked, but explained the procedure:  I had to put it in my checked luggage, of course, and put the gun in one bag, and the bullets in another.  Then they attached a special warning ticket to my bag and sent it on down the conveyor belt to be loaded onto the plane.  I didn’t give it much thought until later.   In LA, there was a problem with my ticket. The flight was announced, but the man at the check-in counter wouldn’t give me my boarding pass.  I waited and waited, until it was near the time for the plane to takeoff, when he suddenly called me over and gave me my pass.  I ran down the moving walkways and up the indoor ramp to the plane.  There were two men flanking the door.  They stopped me, and I nervously told them the plane was going to take off.  They said to relax, that it wasn’t going to take off yet.  Then they questioned me about how much money I was carrying.  I told them I had three hundred dollars.  They asked me why I was going to Peru, and I told them about Elsie, my friend I was going to visit.  They seemed satisfied with that, and handed my passport and wallet back and waved me on to the plane.   I was directed to the only empty seats, just behind a partition.  I had noticed that everyone else had plenty of leg room, but I wasn’t going to be able to stretch out.  It was going to be the longest flight I’d ever taken.  I heard someone say that I must have been the person they were waiting for.   Resignedly, I waited for the plane to move.  It was already past time for departure.  There was one empty seat next to me.  I was glad, because that meant I might stretch out that way.  Just then a man ran onto the plane and sat down next to me.  Shit.  Oh, well.

As we traveled, I enjoyed the flight.  The food was amazing on Varig Airlines, a Brazilian flight I’d found that was cheapest.   We had warm towels to wash our hands, and linen napkins and appetizers and drinks.  It was the best restaurant I had ever been to!  My fellow traveler was chatty, and ended up asking me a question that led me to volunteer that I was packing a gun.  He also seemed surprised, but I told him it was in my checked bag, and I explained why I’d brought it, and the procedure I’d had to follow to bring it.  He had told me he was not just a businessman, but also a smuggler.  He said he often smuggled electronics into Peru inside of washing machines that he imported, and that no one ever checked inside of those.  I was impressed.   Of course, much later on, I realized he had been leading me on, pumping me for details, and hoping to make me trust him.   I did trust him, but I had nothing else to tell him.  As we neared Peru, he told me that my bags would most likely be searched at customs, and that it was illegal to smuggle arms into Peru.  I was horrified.  I imagined they’d find the gun and arrest me.  I thought I’d end up in a Peruvian jail, with no way to ever get home.  I didn’t know what else to do, so I queued up with everyone else in line.  They weren’t doing very thorough examinations of each bag, so I began to relax, hopeful that they wouldn’t notice the gun or the bullets.  My seatmate from the plane was ahead of me, and they asked him what he had, and poked through his clothes.  It was my turn!

I pushed my bags toward the custom inspector, but he just patted them and waved me on.  I looked at him, but he gestured emphatically for me to move along.   Whew!  My new buddy was waiting for me, and offered to share a taxi.  I asked him where I could stay, and said he knew of an area frequented by American tourists.  He dropped me off there, but before leaving asked if I might sell the gun and gave me his number.  I thought it might be a good idea, because I was suddenly worried about getting back into the USA with it.  He said he had a friend who might be interested.  Later on, I found out that washing machines were a rarity in Peru, even in the suburbs of Lima, and there were no laundromats at all, but I didn’t know then just how odd my traveling companion’s story had been.

My, My, My


karen052809 (2) Saw Karen again, or rather her back.  That’s all I see now.   I walked into my building with a cup of coffee, talking to someone else who had also been to get coffee, so I didn’t see Karen coming.  She, however, saw me, because she instantly spun around and walked back the way she’d come from.  Well, that gives me a little more insight into who I’ve been dealing with: a child in a woman’s body – never grew up.  And I thought women were supposed to be more mature than men?  That’s the second time she’s done that.  I’m glad I’ve gotten over the unrequited love obsession, which was really limerence – that kind of behavior might have had a bad effect on me before.  It’s pretty funny now.  I never did anything bad to the woman, never said anything nasty or angry to her.  I’ve always been friendly, and I smiled and waved whenever I saw her anywhere.   I could see her not wanting or needing to have lunch together anymore, but to deliberately turn around whenever she sees me?  That is just too funny.  It’s not like I’d do or say anything to make her uncomfortable.  She’s the one who always maintained we were just friends, and that anything else was inappropriate.  I wanted to continue the friendship, but I wasn’t going to be upset if she didn’t.   She’s acting like a lover scorned, or a teenager.  She’s three months shy of 29 years old! 13-30 Well, at least I learned something: I learned why these May-December realtionships don’t work!  Such a painful lesson.  It’s a good thing I won’t be around here much longer.  Too bad.  I really liked her, enjoyed her company, and enjoyed listening to her.

Aha! Confirmation of my imaginings


Goodbye-friend Looks like either way I look at it, I won’t be having lunch with Karen again.  She IS avoiding me, not that I blame her.  I think she did get that email I sent her, my confession of my obsessive infatuation/ unrequited love for her these last few years.  I went for coffee just now, at an unusual time when there was no one else there.  As it was espressing, I walked over to get some raw sugar to put in it, in and in the corner of my eye, I see Karen walking towards the door of the Cafe.  I think, “Well, I can say hello, see if she’s still friendly,” and waited for her to open the door.  She never came in. There was no other direction she could have heading, there is only the door to the Cafe she could have been heading to,  and straight on.  She saw me. I noticed that she did, and her head went down. She must have decided she can’t stand the idea of running into me anymore.  Either she is just trying to avoid my asking her about lunch, or she got the email I sent.  At least I  know for sure now.  You’d think she’d have the honesty and consideration to tell me so, rather than avoid me, but after all, she is at least as immature as I still am.   I have the luxury of a bit more experience, and tried to get a response from her directly, but she wasn’t having any of it.  It’s one thing to lose a relationship; it’s another to lose a friend too.   I suppose I’ll have to pretend I never knew her now, never had lunch with her every Friday for four years or so, never had anything in common, never traded movies and books, never discussed politics, Sci Fi, or manga or anime.  I blew a fine friendship with my “inappropriate” interest in  her.  I guess I’ll never learn.  brysi-goodbye karencrop

goodbye goodbye_my_love goodbye1

(but I cannot really ever say good-bye)