In persönlicher Sache habe ich wieder mal gegen jede Vernunft, gegen Ratschläge und gegen das Offensichtliche gehandelt, weil ich eine nicht ganz unglaubwürdige Instanz hatte, die zu mir sprach: Mein Bauch sagte: Tu es! Schreib ihm! Sei einfach offen und ehrlich!

Ich werde das Ergebnis kriegen. Als Nachricht oder als Nichts. Ich werde es sehen.

Habe einen netten Spruch gelesen - so oder so ähnlich: If it's your time, love will track you down like a cruise missile.

The greatest waste on earth, in the world, in my life anyway: Thinking about a man. Nothing is relevant other than vibes you get. And even if you get vibes, don't rely on them, you might be fabricating them. Only rely on a package of vibes, calls, time spent together and touches. I know that everyone is different, that every relationship was different. I also know, however, that finding excuses is bollocks and such a waste of time, because in the end it is true: He's just not that into you if... add whatever you please.

At the end of the story, there's no explanation, there's only an end, which is the plainest and clearest explanation in a man's mind anyway. In my mind there are some question marks dangling after a text message and the resolution not to waste time or thoughts or anything at all, for that matter. Resolutions are bound to fail, yet this one simply has to work.

While it starts working, while I get back into the habit of considering myself very single and my future very probably single as well, I know that one saying is just a soothing medicine that doesn't really take away all the pain or any of its causes. You may believe in it, you may not, but believing is hard sometimes: Don't be sad that you lost him, be glad that you had him.

Yes. Aha. I'm waiting for my own sake, for my own good, for that to kick in...

I think it was the mistake, and I've made it. Well, if it was over, it was over anyway, and if it hinged on something like that, I guess it wasn't that great anyway. There it comes, the fox telling himself the higher grapes are sour anyway.

The second I clapped my eyes open, I knew it was wrong. Everything. Waking up at that very moment, not fifteen minutes earlier or later. The day that was to come. Having to go to work. Everything. No, it wasn't a case of self-fulfilling prophecy. It was just the first time in years that I felt it that violently AND consciously: This was going to be no good day. I was in a shitty mood from the beginning.

Passing the work day in a rush lifted my mood just slightly, although there were put-downs in the shape of irritatingly awful students going for a walk on my mood and my nerves and me seeing my insufficient ways that are yet to be improved. Being off at eleven didn't really help, as now there was the problem of making a decision. Should I go and see my former colleagues although there was a good chance that there would only be J, and J and I alone would probably be awkward or at least, well, awkward. So, should I? Even though a lot in me screamed no, I heard my wish "But I would like to take the chance that I'll run into him! And I want to feel the rush of being in the same building as he!" There we go, driving towards the school building. First bad signs: no parking space anywhere. Having driven around for quite a while, I head for the parking lot of a grocery store, fully aware of the wrongness, but not caring.

I teeter to the entrance, smile at Peter looking out of the window and catching sight of me, thinking, now I can't turn back anymore, thinking, I wouldn't have anyway. I stall for time at the toilet, seeing that I might look like a weird intruder because I'm back again, two days after the last time, and despite the fact that most colleagues had cancelled.

My first glance goes to the pidgeon holes, where I see an uncollected information sheet. Aha, he hasn't been there for a while. Or maybe he has. How did I get to rely on such whimsy indications? (Ever since nothing has actually happened?) I am alone, without even an excuse for my visit. I walk over to the coffee table, where I have the good fortune of witnessing a work conversation just two minutes after my arrival, which makes me feel part of something, even a little useful as a sympathetic listener. On top, one of the colleagues mentions him in the conversation, which again makes me startle - internally. Now it doesn't. Now it's in a line, on a par with all the teenage- or stalkerlike symptoms of a very confused woman mildly or not so mildly interested in a guy (who is probably just a blinking moment). Care for examples? I walk past parked cars and recognize his number. Startle. I hear J and Habi muse about old and new colleagues, wonder about the knowledge I have and don't want to share: startle. Hear someone unwittingly add a letter to his name: startle. Is this what drives men away?

Anyway, got carried away. My prayers that we might wait long enough for all the teachers to come back is, of course, unanswered, because we head off hurriedly "to make it before all the rush starts". Yeah, cool, of course.

The conversation during lunch is unexpectedly enriched by Habi, who joins us, J and me. From a non-work-related topic she quickly finds her way back to work, and I am reminded, among other things by his silence, that J detests work talk during his lunch break or free time. I'm considerably powerless, though, and can only join in every once in a while. Then again, I'm telling myself only now, I cannot be responsible for a grown-up man. If I can, I can rescue the situation, but ... you get the point. All the while I think or muse or dream subconsciously about O. My mood starts sinking rapidly, even more rapidly, when they start on the pessimistic it-will-only-get-worse-topic. Not that they're wrong - it's just so not what I need to hear on a day like this.

The real letdown comes later, of course absolutely unexpectedly. I talk to F about O in an unprecedented way. I give her what seems like way too many details afterwards, maybe she can't quite follow or keep her mental eyelid open. She says, "If that happens, then you can forget him anyway." I'm blown, and I realize I wanted her to reassure me. Instead she takes all the air out of it. Then she says, "Maybe he wants something different from what you want." Wham! Another one! When I leave, I realize that I feel very alone, very much left alone, very disappointed. I feel unappreciated. I feel not gotten. Then I tell myself it's not her that I am disappointed in. It's the truth in the mirror in front of my face. She doesn't want to hurt me, and she probably knows how not to. So why blame her? She's just given me some advice. Why do I feel the earth shake under my feet, though? Because I had assumed my luck imminent, not just possible. Because I had thought I had found out something about myself, because I could be proud of me in some way at least. Then she smashed that by virtually saying "He's just a vacuum. You're wrong!"

Did I mention I hate seeing myself fall back into this awful dependent state? I'm only barely holding myself back from texting him, from writing that message that says "Hey, how'ya doin'?" but screams, "I want to spend time with you and I'm completely confused as to why you're not calling and could you please tell me it doesn't mean you're just not into me and if it does could you please be into me?" And how desperate is that? Is it legitimate to want to know why he was giving me signals if he doesn't anymore?

This is the first time in weeks that I've had a whole bar of chocolate in one sitting, and I don't feel better for having indulged. I feel worse, because it wasn't the chocolate I would have wanted. F***!

Only seconds from composing that text message. On a Wednesday, though? What are the chances he'll answer midwork, midweek? Or is that an irrelevant question because a) I should stop analyzing and b) it should be "Would he answer at all and what would that answer be worth if it's just an answer and not a call?"

Then again, it's me. And I'm different. How am I to know he's not different, too, if he's meant for me? Then again, I'm putting the weight on him, something I didn't want to do. I wanted to be just the light and pleasing woman - there, it has escaped my mouth - pleasing. When did that add to the bill? I was never into pleasing when it came to him.

Breaking news: I cannot not write. I just know that everything they tell me is just a guideline, but what I feel I need to do is inside me, inside my stomach. It's "remember what was" and "do what you feel is right". Darn! I'm starting to doubt. Why did that postcard pick me the other day and scream "buy me, buy me!"? It says, "Good things will come to those who can wait." Well, I can wait, but I just want a little piece of candy for the way. Is that cheating? Or is it still waiting? Am I ruining every last drop of a chance I have if I write? Shouldn't he know I'm there without me telling him like that?

to be continued

Es war einmal eine Kabarettvorstellung des Herrn Bernhard Ludwig. Da erläuterte dieser die These von der Frauen- und der Männerpyramide. Eingekocht à la Freundin U: "Bleder deaf er ned sein."

Kurzer Geistesblitz heute, bevor ich mich wieder in die Umnachtung der seelischen Erleichterung nach einem Gespräch begebe: wirklich? Wenn ich all die Umstände wegnähme und mir nur die Person anschaute, wäre ich dann von ihr, also von ihm, noch angezogen? Aber klar doch, noch mehr. Das wirft die Frage auf, ob ich wirklich jemanden will, der mir intellektuell ebenbürtig ist. Das soll nicht heißen, dass er, dieser, dumm sei. Aber einen gewissen Altersunterschied hat man vielleicht erst wettgemacht, wenn er nur noch einen kleinen Bruchteil des absoluten Alters ausmacht. Außerdem hat es für mich doch auch eine Bedeutung, in welcher Zeit man aufgewachsen ist.

Für einen kurzen Moment sah ich die Sorglosigkeit hoffnungsvoll aufflackern, die so eine Beziehung mit sich brächte, so ich erst mal das Misstrauen, das ich im Kern hege, abgelegt hätte. (Gute Basis.) Das erzeugte den Gedanken, ob ich nicht im Grunde jemanden will, bei dem ich mich nicht vor meiner eigenen geistigen Unzulänglichkeit fürchten muss? Dann schnell der Schwenk zur unglaublichen Inspiration, die ein Intellekt wie jener des vorletzten Traummannes ist. Nein, er darf schon ruhig so sein. Er darf ganze Bibliotheken intus haben. Er soll dabei halt nicht mit der Nase im 20. Stock wohnen. Gibt es so jemanden noch? Und darf er oder muss er so sein? Wann hab ich einen Vaterkomplex, wann hat jemand, der mich mag, einen Mutterkomplex? Wie merkt man außerhalb eines Buches oder Films, ob man sich ebenbürtig ist? Wenn er tatsächlich nur ein junger Mann wäre, stripped of all the circumstances that tie him to the illicit, würde ich in seinen Augen versinken. Wie lange? Wenn's nach der Vergangenheit ginge, sicher nicht ewig. Wenn auch ich dazulernen kann, wer weiß? Aber ich bin sicher noch immer jemand, der viel auf die Meinung anderer gibt. Das Getuschel könnte ich wohl genauso wenig vertragen wie schon die relativ harmlosen Aussagen wie "Schon wieder ein Amerikaner!" und "Ah, ein Italiener!".

Ich bin um keinen Deut weiter als noch vor einer halben Stunde und ein paarhundert Zeichen. Vielleicht deaf a scho in gewisser Weise bleder sei. I waß ned. In der Zwischenzeit muss ich mich wahrscheinlich entscheiden, ob ich den verliebtheitsähnlichen Symptomen wie Bewusstsein seiner Nähe, Stechen in der Herzgegend und akuter Fröhlichkeit wegen meines Serotoninspiegels nachgeben oder ob ich mich aus der Affäre ziehen sollte, um als erwachsen durchzugehen.

Ich beginne es so zu empfinden, dass diese Kommunikation in eine ungute Richtung geht, weil wir uns wahrscheinlich schon hätten treffen sollen, und so kommunizieren wir aneinander vorbei. Mäh!

"Do not go gentle..."
Warum nun in meinem Kopf? Diese Zeilen?

Another ending, this unexpected loss of M, my special Hugh Grant friend, which seems sadly final. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. I know that in the past I have seen myself too many times as the center of other people's problems or doings. This time it has occurred to me again. There can be lots of reasons for doing what he has done, but, actually, I can't think of any good ones. You could cut all your links to your past if you want to make a fresh start. Wouldn't you mind losing good friends along the road? And there I am again: Am I a reason to cut the past off? I've always been one to exaggerate feelings or even invent them in guys that were mildly interested if at all and to just not see them in others that I deemed friends. (As Groucho Marx has put it, I would never join a club that would stoop low enough to take me as a member.) Sometimes he seemed very friendly towards me, a lot nicer than others, but then again, he was nice to a lot of people, that was just his way. And haven't I just learned from Greg Behrendt's wisdom that if he doesn't ask me out, he's just not that into me? He can't possibly be the one guy in a million who is too reasonable to give it a try even if he's going to move several hours north. Well, he could. But chances are, he isn't. If by some utter miracle you come across this, Mr. choir voice, humanist, sophisticated synaesthetic fluent at Greek guy, yes, it is you. So, why in the world would you do what you've done? Not that we've kept such close touch in the past eight months, erh, quite the opposite, actually, but that has completely robbed me of any chances. Is that what it is supposed to tell me? That I for once have to act and not just think about acting, maybe?

You do know that there was a time when you were one of the three guys peopling my brain? C, the waste of time, H, the wishful thinking kind of result, and you. What H's voice was referring to K, yours was to me, sometimes. You noticed subtle detail that hardly anyone saw, talking to you felt better than talking to C. Tough one, that, since talking to C involved frantically scratching the deep end of my brain for things to say to his silence and resigning, embarrassingly attributing it to his feelings. Talking to you was like no time at all, yet free. There was no click in my heart either, I'm afraid, only some moments of astonishment. Is this a great case of unrequited something that has had you pull the plug? Or is it me making a melodrama - again?

Gotta go to bed, hear my mom coming. Nah, but just felt like quoting my runner-up "favorite movie". Which one is my favorite again? Brain leak. No, that's not it. Ah, yes, Music and Lyrics. "I have amazing insight. I'd use it on myself, except I don't have any problems."

Ich fühle mich im Niemandsland. Keiner da, und ich täte mich doch schon sehnen. C ist übrigens bescheuert. Wie er es schafft, mich einen ganzen Abend lang so inbrünstig zu ignorieren!

Long enough to make my stomach tingle - if a stomach can do that, I don't know. Strange enough to have me draw back and watch from afar. Relevant enough to make me remember and want to tell. Unsubstantiated enough to shove it on the "later" shelf.

Wise enough not to trust my own wishes.
Clever enough to consider other possibilities (never forget what it's like to learn he's already got someone).
Woman enough to check his back, neck, and head.
Smart enough to remind myself: the smoke thing, the smoke.
Alive enough to remember who has probably put myself in this position: myself.

Andere Kleider, selber Schock.

* "--- was hit by a car while riding her bicyle on campus. She died on the site of the accident. T.D., her boyfriend, whom she had been dating since January, was devastated."

Also das war der Grund für sein good-bye. Toll, wenn ich deshalb nicht monatelang Trauer im Herzen getragen hätte. Scheißkerl! Auch wenn er trauert. Scheißkerl! (Or, as R helpfully said: What a fuckface!)

* "Meine Freundin und ich haben jetzt einen kleinen Hund, und ich habe ihr versprochen, bald nach Hause zu kommen."

Päng! Päng, päng, päng! Man muss zwei Gehirne haben. Das eine macht völlig zu und spürt nur noch Schmerz, das andere hört mechanisch noch immer, was er weiter plappert. Nein, dieser Mann plappert nicht. Mein Hirn hört, wie er Silbe um Silbe dem Monolog anfügt, es registriert, wie ich nach außen hin mit keiner Wimper gezuckt habe, wie er nach außen hin beiläufig sagte...

* "Heute war ich am Berg mit meiner Flamme."

Ooooooooooh! Scheiße, das dunkle Loch vom Samstag tut sich erneut auf und verschlingt mich. Immerhin Buchstaben, keine Schallwellen, sodass ich alleine mit meinem gebrandmarkten Herzen sitze. Es tuat so weh, wenn ma verliert. Ich hab's viel zu lange nicht bemerkt, und nun ist es zu spät. Ich hätte vielleicht nie eine Chance gehabt, aber nun ist es definitiv zu spät.

To you I shall say, as I have often before, Do not be in a hurry, the right man will come at last.

(J. Austen)

But will there be as much pain as there has been until he's here?