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.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Season 4 xxv: Secrets, Secrets

Setting: Geneva Terrace

I have been keeping a secret. Only Emily and Katie know what I am about say, and they don't even know all of the details. This is one that I have been mulling over between soaking in the sun, digging into some good music, and avoiding all things work.

I told Mr. IV about this blog. He knows he is a character in something I am writing. He doesn't know what that means. Not yet. But, I have offered to let him read. At some point. He seems excited at the prospect. That shows how little he knows. I tried to warn him, without being obvious, but there is no way he could have understood.

I plan to pick the time wisely. I don't want to put Leslie out, so I must wait until the tennis season is over. After all, I have no idea how to gauge a possible reaction, and she has been enough of a casualty already. Maybe he will laugh it off and we will stay friends (this is really what I hope because I know the next situation is on the hell freezing over end of the spectrum and I don't want him completely out of my life). However, maybe he will read this blog and see something he didn't before. I don't know what I hope as a result of this outcome. If I am real honest, the thought of a relationship with anyone, ever... well, it feels a little like trying to breathe at 65 mph with your head stuck out the window.

And yet... I want to spend time with him. My fingers twitch to text him some stupid plan: coffee, board games. Anything really. I miss talking to him, and I miss seeing him.

I think I wrote this blog for him. The secret's out.
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