A New Dream, of Math!


Extraordinary!  I woke up at 4:30 am after dreaming.  That in itself is not unusual.  For years I have been doing that, waking up at odd times of the night, sometimes from nightmares, other times from dreams of longing, or sexual excitement, or violence, and often, fear.   It’s hard to get back to sleep after that, even if I need more than 4 or 5 hours sleep.  Today was unusual in that there was none of that.  I had a teaching dream.  I dreamt I was a substitute teacher or guest lecturer at a grade school.  I was there with the teacher, whose other appointment had been canceled, so she was there.  We were trying to come up something for me to do.  I asked about lesson plans and where the kids were in their studies, when all of a sudden I decided to lecture about the number/concept of one.  I found a green chalkboard on the side of the classroom, and the teacher had the kids rearrange their desks to face me.

I talked about one, and how, of course, one times something is still one something, how division is just a question of finding out how many of some thing are part of something else.  I used the traditional example of one, starting with how many of those ones are there in, for example 25.  There are twenty-five.  Twenty five times one is twenty-five.  But, that is not the whole story. The things under analysis don’t have to be the same.  I could have 25 apples and 4 oranges.  The question, represented by mathematical symbols, could be how many apples are there in 25 apples and 4 oranges.  Well, there are still 25 apples.  There could also have been 21 apples and four oranges; 25 pieces of fruit.  The question itself has to be defined, and it is, just using symbols.  That, of course, led to questions from the students, and more discussion.  I spoke of how numbers were originally used to represent philosophical concepts,  how useful the number one was to represent the concept of a thing, and other symbols were invented to represent other things under discussion, and how that enabled counting, and the representation of sums, and how zero had to be invented to represent the concept of no thing, or nothing.

I talked of using mathematics to run a warehouse.  I gave many examples of ways to understand inventory.  I came up with an example of a warehouse that sells two things.   One day, the owner had everything in the place counted, but she was only given two numbers: 634 boxes, of which there were 389 boxes of, say, can openers.  However, she needed to know how many knife sharpeners she had in stock but everyone had gone home for the day already.  So, it’s simple, the students said, you just subtract.  Certainly, and many of you can do this in your head, or we can put this on paper, or on the board here: 634, less 389 is 245.  634 minus 389 equals 245.  634-389=245.   So there were 245 boxes of knife sharpeners.  However, she needed to know how many knife sharpeners  she had, not how many boxes of them.  Fortunately, she knew that each box of sharpeners contained 24 of them.  Then we were back to mathematics, and multiplication.  245 boxes of sharpeners, 24 to a box, so  245 boxes of 24 sharpeners is 5880 sharpeners.   245 times 24 is 5880.  245 X 24 = 5880.  “Classic representations of  problems, but using symbols,” I said to the students, “that you all know by now.”  Simple.  But, it could also be represented other ways, using other symbols, for more complex calculations.  Boxes could be B.  Can openers could be C.  Knife sharpeners could be represented by S.  389 plus 245 is 634.  C + S = B.   This led to more questions, and I went on the show them how this little statement could be even more representative of the actual inventory.  It could also be written as say, 15C + 24S = T, or total number of items on hand.   So, knowing, at any given moment, how many of each item is available depends on knowing the values of those letter symbols, in this case boxes of each.

I went on to explain how this use of symbols can more useful.  I used the same example, but the warehouse had three types of things: can openers, knife sharpeners, and knives.   So, we had, on the chalkboard, C + S + K = B.   “OK,” I asked, “what if the owner had a similar problem, but had different types of things to be determined.  For example, she knew that she had  389 boxes of can openers, 245 boxes of sharpeners, and she did not know how many total boxes she had of everything, but she needed to know how many knives she had in stock.   So, using our symbols, C is 389, S is 245, but K is unknown and B is unknown.  I asked the students how to solve this problem.  They said, just count all the boxes.  “But,” I said, “it’s too late to do that, and everyone has gone home.  She needs to know, right now, how many knives she has.  “She has to work all night, by herself, ” a student offered. Yes, I said, that’s one way, but there are other ways, and it doesn’t solve the problem of telling the manager on the phone, right now,  how many knives they can ship tomorrow to the various stores the company has.  He has to know, so he knows how many each store gets, and they each want to know today how many to expect.  “Can’t be done, ” a student called out.

“But,” I said, “what if she has other information?”  For example, what if she knows that for every set of six knives sold, she includes one sharpener.  “Could it be done then?” I asked.  This riled the students up.  Many of them had suggestions, and some said we needed more information. The discussion was lively.  The students were engaged in the problem, and things were beginning to click in some heads.  Math was no longer esoteric and boring.  This is, as I said, a teachers dream.  I had opened a discussion, gotten students involved, and pushed them to think.  That is what motivates any good teacher.  It is what drives some to become teachers in the first place.

Well, this is all very interesting, you say, but, what the hell has it to do with you?  You’re not a teacher.  What has this to do with Love, and Madness?  This blog is about those things, not teachers, not math, not symbols, or the philosophy and use of symbols.

True.  But, this is the extraordinary thing.  I never dream about such things.  I have been caught in a loop of unrequited love, an emotional roller coaster of ups and downs and confusion.  My dreams were about her, about the possibilities of life with her, and the impossibility of that ever happening.  There was no solution.  My marriage broke up, but there was no solution to that, and even that was no solution to my problem.  In fact, I was far worse off.  My dreams became worse, my sleeplessness increased, my brain spun out of control, and I couldn’t focus, couldn’t think about anything else.  I retired.  Work was nearly impossible.  On my own, I got worse and worse. Depressed. Dysfunctional. Remote. Alone.

Two days ago, I resolved the problem caused by my obsession with Karen.  She helped.  She told me to lose her address.  Finally, a clear message from her.  I liked it.  It was what I had wanted all along.  In fact, I hadn’t been able to resolve my feelings, my emotions, or lack of them.  I was stalled out.  I no longer felt anything at all, but I didn’t seem to be moving on either.  Karen’s message to me hit home.  I had carefully avoided being angry with her for any of this.  She had done nothing wrong, had always been straight with me and could not be blamed.  However, the typical scenario for getting over a lost love, failed marriage, or even death usually involves several steps, of which anger is one.  I was angry with Karen now, even though I brought that on myself.  For a brief moment, I hated her.  I wrote it down.  I said, in this blog, “Fuck you Karen.”   Never before had I thought such a  thing or wanted to direct any anger or negativity towards her.   I was wrong, very wrong.  That was precisely what I should have done long ago.  What a relief!  Fuck you Karen, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.  CLICK HERE It was a mantra for me.  It worked.  For another brief moment, I wanted to die.  Seriously, my depression came back full force, and I really, really wanted to kill myself.  But, it passed.  My head cleared.  Logic does not apply to emotions.  I would never have solved these equations:  Me plus Karen equals happiness, and Me plus Karen is impossible, and Me minus Karen is death, or zero, anyway, nothing.  Does not compute.

So, I don’t think the dream meant I wanted to be a teacher.  The reality is usually far different from that anyway.  I could try being a substitute, bring in a little cash. Hell, the damn retirement board just decided, upon careful analysis of my pension, that they had made a mistake, and I was being given $7.80 more a month than I was entitled to.  They sent me a letter, stating that, and the fact that, since I have gotten $7.80 a month too much for ten months, I now owed them $78.00!  And the motherfuckers have already deducted the entire amount from my next disbursement.  Well, fuck  ’em.  I’ll survive.  My budget was tight enough.  Actually, in their complicated math, I will get not just $78 less, but $84.25 less this month.  I don’t know how THAT works, since, if I was getting $7.80 too much, then the ten months of that is $78.00, and $7.80 less for the current month would mean I should get $85.80 less.

So, really, I may have to get that part-time job I’ve been dreading.  Hmm. Substitute teacher? Always in demand. Flexible hours.

Well, at least, my head is clear now. Maybe I can be more creative. Maybe I can get on with my life now.  

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.

Video Stalking


– Karen at the Espresso Cafe –

Seems I’ve become a stalker.  Initially, it was Karen who established the unbroken routine of our lunches together.  Then, she changed her mind, although I probably had something to do with it.

It’s funny that I said this was over.  It’s over for her, of course, but she stays in my head, even though I’ll never see her again, except at a distance.

April10, 2009 12:27 pm:

Sounded like you would be busy today, but do let me know when you’re free for lunch. I always enjoy your company.

April 10, 2009 12:49 pm: I will probably be busy through may

April 10 2009 3:04 pm: I’m available other days, meals, times, and places. 🙂

—-(no reply)—————————.

June 19, 2009 8:14 am: Do you have time today for lunch with an old friend?

June 19, 2009  11:40 am: don’t know.  It all depends on when my boss gets out of her meeting.  We are short staffed this week.

June 19, 2009 11:48 am: OK. Let me know.  I’ll wait. 🙂

June 19, 2009 12:44 pm: Don’t wait.  I could be any time from now to 1:30.

June 19, 2009 12:49 pm: I don’t mind. I’m busy here. I’ll eat later if I don’t hear from you.

—-(no reply)—————————.

June 26, 2009 11:49 am: Got time today?

—-(no reply)—————————.

That’s it! Between the job stress and the union stress, coupled with no word from Karen, no replies to my email, I decide to retire early. Fuck it all.  I can’t take anymore.

July 3, 2009  8:39 am (sent to her non-work, Hotmail account, which she may not have opened or read at all):

Hi Karen.  I sure miss those Friday lunches, something I looked forward to every week.  I always enjoyed them.  I loved the way we liked so many of the same things. Sharing videos or books was really fun.  I’ve never actually known anyone quite like you, with your preoccupations and obsessions with Babylon 5, Straczynski, and all the anime and manga stories – things I’ve enjoyed for years by myself.  I loved hearing about your Halloween preparations, or your nieces and nephew.  Loved the way you spoke of them, and enjoyed spending time with them. You have that quality of being able to relate to children, and they like you too.  I liked you immediately, and just was amazed to find out how interesting you really were, and how much I liked listening to you.  Do you know those Fridays, one hour a week, was the most time I spent with anyone else besides my ex wife? Ha ha.  I’m such a  dork.

When my marriage was crumbling, you were a bright spot in the world for me.  Of course, I should never, never have done what I did, which was fall in love with you.  The one really good thing about getting divorced was that then I thought we might be able to spend more time doing things like movies, or even, wonder of wonders, dating. Ha ha.  Sorry.  I told myself how stupid it was; beat myself up over and over for thinking and feeling that way.  I just couldn’t stop.  You became an obsessive, compulsive infatuation with me. Dreams and fantasies.  Sigh. Thought about romance, then living together, then marriage, and children.  All the while I knew it was impossible, but I couldn’t stop.  There were such highs in that fantasy, romantic and erotic, and such lows when I couldn’t be with you.  You made it clear that such thoughts were inappropriate, I know. Compliments were inappropriate; asking you out would be, in your words, “Like a date,” and of course that “inappropriate” idea must have horrified you from the way you said it.  Just as well we didn’t spend even more time together: I’d have just gotten worse, if that’s possible, so, thanks for that.
Why am I writing you ask?  Hard to say.  It took me a while to climb out of that obsession with you.  One day I looked in the mirror long and hard and realized how old I actually looked from your perspective.  I had never been bothered by growing old before, until I realized that being my age meant I couldn’t just meet someone, fall in love, and be with them if they were younger, especially way younger.  I had honestly never thought of that before I met you.  Suddenly I hated being old.
Well, going back to why I’m writing: I have gotten over the obsession. I don’t know how; it just stopped one day.  Took me years.  Ha ha.  It’s hard to believe I could have been such an idiot now.  Again, I apologize for the inappropriate remarks, attention, flowers, last year’s X-mas card with the money.  It’s finally over for me.
I still like you of course, always did, always will.   It seems you have little need for me anymore, and that’s OK.  You have a whole life to live yet.
I like living alone now.  I’ve gotten used to it.  I’m much more withdrawn now, even misanthropic, not wanting much interaction with people anymore. (how emo) I’ve resigned as President of the union. I’m leaving UNM in the fall; Halloween is my last day.  I am trying to find a reason for living.  I practice guitar, go for hikes in the mountains, play chess, read a lot.  I got some medication for depression, and combined with a little counseling, I think I might be coming out of this emo fog.

Hate to bare my soul like this; I never wanted to make you uncomfortable around me. Since we don’t work together, it’s rare to run into you, and you’re too busy, or uninterested in having lunch anymore, so I thought I might as well get this off my chest.

Again, I stress this: I am over the infatuation.  I would like to resume Friday lunches, or some other day, if that’s better for you.  I really, honestly, like you, and I won’t mention any of this ever again if you’d prefer not to talk about my insanity.
I’ve been reading lots of interesting comics and novels lately, and getting into some old movies. It’d be nice to share again. Discuss books, movies, politics. It’d be great to exchange books and movies again.
I totally understand that you would be freaked out by these admissions, so I understand if I don’t hear from you.  I don’t even know if you’ll read this.  I just felt I had to write it, and couldn’t wait until Halloween to put it in the mail as I planned.
Your friend

—-(no reply)—————————.

August 3, 2009:

I see Karen at work, while I am waiting at this cafe.  She is heading for the glass door entrance.  In the corner of my eye I happen to notice her reaching for the door handle.  I hope she will say hello when she comes in.  She never comes in.  I turn around to look for her, but there is no sign of her.  There is no place else she could have been going.  She has just avoided me.

August 5, 2009:

Karen does it again.  I have gotten coffee and am heading into my building with a coworker who was also getting coffee.  I am talking as I enter the door, and don’t notice Karen at first.  I see someone to the side, and as I turn to look, it is Karen, just finishing an about face.  She was heading for coffee at her usual time. She saw me and turned away before she might have had to acknowledge my presence.  I have no doubt now that she is purposely avoiding me.  I will never bother her again.

October 9, 2009:

Two months, but I’m suddenly thinking intensely about Karen again, although I know how crazy it is, how depressing, how horribly, terribly bad it is for me to think about her.   I forward to her an email that has been sent out to everyone I do business with announcing my retirement party.  I wait two weeks, and then –

October 23, 2009 8:07 am:

Lunch today? I know you’re busy, but next week is my last, and I’d expect you to be even more busy next week with Halloween.

—-(no reply)—————————.

October 29, 2009:

My retirement party at work.  It is a two-hour affair, from 3 pm to 5 pm.  Long enough for Karen to make even a brief appearance, even to say good-bye to an old coworker.  Although nearly everyone I’ve ever known at work shows up, and the room is crowded with well wishers, Karen does not show.  She does not even send an email. One day of work left, so, on –

October 30, 2009 12:35 pm:

My last day. One more lunch?

October 30, 2009 2:20 pm:

Was at a potluck/staff meeting today just got back, and now have to do my document run.

October 30, 2009 4:57 pm:

Been pretty busy myself.  Working late today too.  You know, you are the one person I will miss more than anyone around here.  You brightened up my last few years.  Thanks.  If you’re ever in the mood, I’ll meet you for lunch whenever you have time, or after work someday for a drink or dinner?  Well, anyway, I guess you wouldn’t want to do that.  So, Have a frightfully good Halloween, and really great Birthday, and a wonderful Xmas.  I enjoyed those lunches one hell of a lot. Enjoyed meeting and knowing you.  I really hope life treats you well. I wish you the best possible life.  I care about you a lot, and I will never forget you.

—-(no reply)—————————.

November 20, 2009 12:36 am:

Good morning. Care to meet for lunch today? Is the Med II cafeteria still open ’till 1:30 on Fridays? Anytime is good for me.

—-(no reply)—————————.

January 8, 2010:

I find new photos on the Halloween website that Karen has uploaded from October 31 and November 1, 2009.  The link takes me to Photobucket.  I download pictures of her from Halloween, made up as a Zombie at work, and photos of her at work on Dia de los Muertos in a skeleton/sugar skull costume. I click on a box that will notify me when she uploads new photos.  I have forgotten that Karen will be notified that I am “following” her on Photobucket.  I add the images to my Oct 9, 2009 post.

January 10, 2010:

I receive a message from Photobucket that Karen has uploaded new photos.  Thinking that perhaps she has uploaded them especially for me to see, I click on the link that takes me to her photos.  Even after I log myself in, I am asked for a password to view her photos.  I am blocked.  Her account is now suddenly private.  It is a clear message from Karen.  She wants nothing more to do with me.  She doesn’t even want me to look at her photos.  I remove the check from the box that asks Photobucket to notify me of new photos.  Thinking that Karen thinks of me as a stalker now, I remove her email addresses from my email address book, and I delete all photos of her from my computer.  She exists now only in these terse old emails, my memory and this blog. I will never be able to have contact with her again.  She will never reply to any email again.

January 26, 2010

I see her on a web cam, and post the pictures above of her at our workplace coffee cart, where she goes for her iced mocha cappuccino with whipped cream, where I used to go for my simple Americano.  We used to drink those together sometimes after lunch.  Now, I can only ever see her again as a low-quality image on a web cam with a 2-second delay. Why do I even care?

What does death taste like?


The_Sweet_Taste_of_Death_by_JasonGoad art by jasongoad.deviantart.com

I wonder what death tastes like.  Does it taste like the blackened bits of carbon that burn forever on the sides of a cast-iron pan?

Does death taste like brown and yellow agglutinated crap served cold?

Perhaps death tastes of the rotting, putrefying meat of dead animals slaughtered for food served steaming hot?

It is often said that the stench of burning human corpses is sickeningly sweet.  Perhaps death brings an overwhelming flavor of sweetness with it?  Burning corpses layered with fatty oils, burning, smoking greasily, filling the air the nose the lungs the tongue with a cloying odor of blackened leather?

Is death sweet? The aroma of almonds, dead and broken, cut in bloodless slices, layered with caramelized sugar; does death taste like that? Or sweeter still, like the honey of billions of dead flowers?

Or could it be, could it taste like bitter astringent pee? the pee on her labia, like a sharp spice around the honey within?

Oh. Back to her. Her, she, the one who makes me long for death.  Her of the twisted mind and tortured soul like me, the one I longed to be with for these wasted years?  What of her? She is life itself, and smiles and joy and soft flesh and music and reading and video and laughter and companionship.  And death. She is death for me. To long for her is to long for death. O, to taste her would be joy!  Joy denied. Love denied. Laughter denied. Companionship denied. The sweet look in her eyes.  The poetry of her hands moving about in space, the hands I long to touch, to caress, to feel warm in my hands….  A_Day_Without_You___2nd_Phase_by_Beloved_Creature A Day Without You by Beloved-Creature

Zombie Karen If she were a real zombie, I’d rush to her, embrace her, kiss her, and die.

But it is death!  It is death to touch her, to want the untouchable.  It is death to taste her, death to want to smell her honey, taste it on the end of my thrusting tongue probing her sweetness, stirring our flesh into spasms of delight and ever more desire, fevered heat on every part of our skin, and all is sensing and touching and smelling and tasting without thought.   Sugar Skull: Dia de los Muertos Karen

And there is la petit mort also.  That is the death I would taste.

I should ‘a’ been a poet, but “comparisons are odious”


Between 400 and 450 years ago, Christopher Marlow wrote: Marlowe Statue

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD (like me) TO HIS LOVE

COME live with me, and be my love;
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy-buds,
With coral clasps and amber-studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd-swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

Just as crazy as I.

Do you doubt it?

Look at the reply:

The nymph’s reply to the shepherd (like Karen’s response to me)

IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.

The gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,—
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

And so, you can see,

I am not alone in insanity,

my lovely lady

my lust, I can never satisfy.

tm 2009, 2010

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)