Setting: Logan, English Office, 222
I had a terrible day yesterday. The little termites ate a hole through my calm, and I was in rage mode when I entered the office at the end of seventh hour. He tried to cheer me up, but I was having none of it. I wanted to steam, to rage; I didn't want to talk about it, and I didn't want to feel better about it. I ended up spilling to him later, after I had used my mad to get a little revenge. Telling him actually made it a bit better, but I think that was more from the therapy of talking than anything else. Before the end of the hour, I had sluiced multiple emotions, criticized charisma (mildly offending Mr. IV) and warmed things to tepid.
We emailed back and forth during conferences. It was chatty at first, but it ended up flirty. That wasn't my fault. He cranked up the dirty dial on Bananagrams, bragged about his looks and proposed a rather highly regarded effect on me. I questioned his response, and received only an "all of the above" in return.
Setting: Vogue, La Crosse
We all went to Vogue after. He offered me the seat and stayed close most of the night. He tried to draw me into the circle when Ann and Beth ventured home, even after a direct refusal on my part (surprise!). When he went to get a refill, I had moved to chat with one of my co-workers. He found me and joined in. He is friendly. He could have chatted with anyone. He didn't. Twice he left and twice he came back. I am sure it didn't mean anything. We were the youngest there. We were also the only English reps.
I left first. I was crashing. On the way home I called Katie. I needed her to talk me down from using the number I had accidentally memorized. I didn't know what I was going to say, but I felt like I had missed my chance. Fortunately (for more than one reason last night), I don't text and drive. Having Katie on the phone made the whole urge less likely. By the time I pulled into my parking lot, I had come up with an agenda. With a lack of negation from Katie, I went through with it.
"In case you haven't caught on, I joke because I like you. It's my thing."
When you live the life of a hermit, communication skills generally become rather rudimentary. Mine usually ride the range of technology. I feel safe in the world of black and white blinking cursors. There, things are black and white. What I write is what I mean. If there is a suggestion of something deeper, it can be uncovered in the permanent pages. Face to face conversations, and (god forbid!) phone calls, make my life a living hell. Suddenly body language can tell a story that contrasts tone of voice. You can lose yourself not only in the juxtaposition of contradictions, but you may also lose the tried and true signs of attraction—signs which I recently sleuthed the Internet for. (A bit ridiculous? I was desperate. And I flirt like a broken faucet.)
I should have a button that says, “Don’t talk to me. I’m Awkward.” Someone better watch out.
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