Friday, August 29, 2008

Wooing by Messenger?

Several weeks ago now, I might have, I say might have, had a declaration of something that might be approaching love, or at least unbridled sentiment, by Mr. Performance Artist. Could it be my unforgettably great ass? Or maybe it is my sparkling personality. Wait, wait, it must have been my talents on the dance floor! Thank god for Messenger because I honestly don't know how I would have responded in person (picture something along the lines of jaw dropping, falling to the floor in a faint). My Spanish is of course very good, but this was couched in lots of passive voice and since Spanish sentences virtually never have subjects, nearly every statement is open to interesting interpretations. Still, I admit I felt my face flush and my heart race as I was reading, which did make me think I got it right. Immediately after, I was bombarded with poetry, of a Peruvian from his past. Poetry is always a very good strategy with women, frankly (quite exemplary if the wooer happens to be the poet himself, as my ex well knows).

After having signed off in a non-committal way, my first rational thought was, good god, exactly WHO could he have been referring to?! Later, I had to have both my housemate and C. confirm that I was correctly understanding the Spanish. But five weeks passed, with no contact from him, which of course made me decide that he had, indeed, been referring to some other mystery woman in his life. I had managed to nearly forget all about him when suddenly today he popped back up on Messenger. Now I'm amusing myself with the agreeable thought that at the same time I am simply desperate for someone in the here and now, on three continents I have men who've fallen for me. It helps with the loneliness, somehow.

I know that there's little chance of convincing him to stop misbehaving so much and just pay attention to what's important. Life has taught me, if nothing else, that it's simply hopeless to think one can convey one's own knowledge and experience to others. Each one of us has to learn these lessons for and by ourselves. Women, it is increasingly dawning on me, do a lot of waiting around for men to grow up. The more experienced the woman, the more waiting. I am nothing if not very experienced. But I've never been any good at waiting.

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