The Sense of Foreboding

This man is going to break my heart. 

"I feel like there's this bullet with his name on it heading straight for my chest." [TXT-message to the LSU Professor from this morning]

I know what you're thinking, you're thinking you can't judge the future of an entire, projected relationship after one very small cup of coffee. You would be right, except that fifty percent of that equation you already know--yourself and how you react under certain circumstances. After thirty-four years on this planet, there isn't much I do or think that surprises me. Other people still surprise me, yesterday's coffee with the English instructor would be included in that. But me? No, most of that shit I've either gone over with a therapist and/or in writing or otherwise digested in my brain at night while I'm waiting to go to sleep (which is when I most often think about Morpheus, and replay, over and over again, words I'd tell him if he was beside me, yes, I'm that pathetic, don't judge).

Does that mean that there are no depths to myself that I have yet to discover? Of course not. I'm sure somewhere deep inside, I'm a really complicated person, just like the rest of the population, but some visions are so blatantly obvious that it's like you're driving down the road, and you see this semi stopped in the middle of the street, blocking both lines with its trailer. You keep driving, and driving and driving, never mind the danger, and you just collide into it, totaling your car, and putting yourself in the ICU of the local hospital for a few days or maybe even a week. Yeah, a bit like that.

I promised myself that I would never love another man like I love Morpheus. It's like suffering from chronic cough, and being convinced you have lung cancer--your life is over (plus, you've been smoking two packs a day since you were sixteen years old). Your last days will be spent on a morphine drip somewhere sterile and lonely with nurses coldly patting your hand as they pass by. Instead of just thinking you got a cold, and will make a complete recovery in a few days.  At thirty-four, can I really predict that I'll never fall in love again like I did in 2007? Afraid, you can because every time you come close, well, you can just run the fuck away while you're still able. Before someone comes up close and grabs you by your jugular, squeezing the oxygen out of your brain.

:::cough:::

I'm sure he's a nice person (he seems to be a little angry, but I suspect he has good reasons for being so). He actually talked about himself, which was refreshing and desirable (I was beginning to think that he just avoids all personal topics as a matter of principle--more rattling of that small, yellow ball inside the big, red rubber dog toy). I'm sure he wouldn't string me along for ten years, and then tell me frankly that he's fucking twenty-year-olds out of sport, boredom and horniness--oh, yes--and because he just can't stand to be alone). But that doesn't mean that I wouldn't fall in love with him anyway, and pine away for him for years.

Being around him just reminds me that I'm alive, that I didn't die after all, and that I can still be thrilled by someone.

During coffee, he said quickly (he was talking fast the whole time) that he would have to go in a few minutes, and then like clockwork, he got up after a little while, said "thank you for putting me on the couch," and then said, "keep in touch," which under most circumstances, I would interpret that as, if I never heard from you again, that would be fine. 

People say that when they don't want to say, let's see each other next week at five o' clock down at Henry's (there's no Henry's in my town).  

For the most part of the next twenty-four hours, I didn't know how to respond. I told myself as I was leaving the cafe that I should just run the fuck away (notice the theme?), and never contact him again. (I immediately thought after we shared coffee about drinking myself silly, but I didn't have the money to burn, and decided to just go to the gym, and lift weights and do some cardio--I drank afterwards while I was at home). He wasn't likely to go out of his way, and randomly email me or call me. After a while, I thought that would be rude of me to just not say anything; besides, somewhere in the back of his brain, in one small, fleeting moment as he's getting ready to watch the news, he might wonder why he never heard from me again (sure). So, I sent him an email, saying that I enjoyed our talk, and that I thought it would be best and fair that if he wanted to meet up again, he should initiate. I also left my cell phone number, saying he could call it anytime he wanted or needed to talk (sure).