I had written a pretty long post relating to the events hinted at in my last post, but Blogger ate it at about two this morning.
I don't really plan to rewrite the post. I don't feel I really need to. It was a little too self-indulgent. Just know that certain things transpired which lead me to suspect that this customer who had hit on me at work and asked me out for coffee (I accepted even though I wasn't interested--I thought I'd give him a chance. I mean, how well can you really gauge attraction in ten minutes' conversation spread over a few weeks?) was more than just seemingly desperate to impress, but married.
These things (among them this man's guardedness, his unmitigated flattery of me) lead me to wonder why I keep attracting this sort of patently false suitor; to wonder whether true partnership, true and honest commitment is even possible nowadays.
It seems too easy to hide behind the unrealities. There's no risk of pain in that kind of search for pleasure.
Despite all of these uncertainties, I will say this: this past week has found me feeling a little bit more like myself. I'm now more or less caught up with my Christmas knitting. And I have finished reading Deledda's The Church of Solitude and have moved on to Frye's The Great Code: The Bible and Literature.
I met up with an acquaintance from high school and had some really good, real conversation (the kind that's wonderfully, deliciously broad in the scope of its subject and gravity).
I checked out a number of much-desired-to-see films from the library (Citizen Cain, The Grand Illusion, Chinatown and Day for Night). And I enjoyed each of them immensely.
I finally got to try wheat grass juice. And I didn't mind it at all. And so I'll drink it again.
I'm feeling a bit more centred. Even though working two jobs that are becoming increasingly distasteful to me in their mind-numbing repetitiveness threaten to erode my willingness to get out of bed in the morning.
Maybe I sound melodramatic. I'm not trying to. I'm being, feeling honestly. And sometimes honesty can be melodramatic.