More of Same
I don't intend to focus this whole blog on Sarah so if you tire of the subject, hang in there. It will change.
But not yet.
I've kept sending her e-mails. And she has kept replying. But I don't know that it's really getting either of us anywhere. Sometimes I feel more like I'm in a badminton match than a friendship. We smack a shuttlecock back and forth. I write; she returns; I volley back. A few of the things I've sent have not been the kinds of things from which I would expect a response. Yet, there she is, in my inbox again. But it's usually talk about nothing, really. Sports (which, granted, from a girl is highly arousing) and other mundane details of days.
Is it better to keep it light to keep it going or better to let it go until she wonders about me? I don't want to play games here. After a recent exchange of what this time were pretty deep cutting revelations to each other I had decided to cool things off. Then I came across something that I thought she would find amusing, snapped a picture of it and sent it to her with one line of text to explain it.
I do have to do a better job of remembering to talk more about her and less about myself when writing to her. What's everyone's favorite subject? That's right. Himself. Or, in this case, herself. So I need to make sure I talk about that more.
Here's the thing: I like this girl even as a pen pal or occasional platonic lunch or dinner companion. I'll be fine if that's as far as it goes. (Frankly it was easier when I lived in another state because we both knew that as far as it could go. I would hate for her to think that I only did all this conversing with her because I hoped to talk her into bed.
I don't know if any of this is making sense. It's nearing my bedtime so that I can get up and go back to work tomorrow.
Did I mention I got a regular 9-to-5 kind of job? If you've read through this mass of verbiage at all then you know I've been working as a freelance reporter. Too many times freelancer was a euphemism for unemployed so I went ahead and sought more permanent work. It's in a new field for me, though one I've had interest as an amateur for a while so it's not entirely alien. I'll still freelance as a sideline when time and scheduling permit but I've become of those people struggling through rush hours to get to and from some place where I sit in a cubicle counting down the minutes until I can leave from the moment I get there.
See? Look at that. A whole paragraph in which I didn't mention what's-her-name once.
But not yet.
I've kept sending her e-mails. And she has kept replying. But I don't know that it's really getting either of us anywhere. Sometimes I feel more like I'm in a badminton match than a friendship. We smack a shuttlecock back and forth. I write; she returns; I volley back. A few of the things I've sent have not been the kinds of things from which I would expect a response. Yet, there she is, in my inbox again. But it's usually talk about nothing, really. Sports (which, granted, from a girl is highly arousing) and other mundane details of days.
Is it better to keep it light to keep it going or better to let it go until she wonders about me? I don't want to play games here. After a recent exchange of what this time were pretty deep cutting revelations to each other I had decided to cool things off. Then I came across something that I thought she would find amusing, snapped a picture of it and sent it to her with one line of text to explain it.
I do have to do a better job of remembering to talk more about her and less about myself when writing to her. What's everyone's favorite subject? That's right. Himself. Or, in this case, herself. So I need to make sure I talk about that more.
Here's the thing: I like this girl even as a pen pal or occasional platonic lunch or dinner companion. I'll be fine if that's as far as it goes. (Frankly it was easier when I lived in another state because we both knew that as far as it could go. I would hate for her to think that I only did all this conversing with her because I hoped to talk her into bed.
I don't know if any of this is making sense. It's nearing my bedtime so that I can get up and go back to work tomorrow.
Did I mention I got a regular 9-to-5 kind of job? If you've read through this mass of verbiage at all then you know I've been working as a freelance reporter. Too many times freelancer was a euphemism for unemployed so I went ahead and sought more permanent work. It's in a new field for me, though one I've had interest as an amateur for a while so it's not entirely alien. I'll still freelance as a sideline when time and scheduling permit but I've become of those people struggling through rush hours to get to and from some place where I sit in a cubicle counting down the minutes until I can leave from the moment I get there.
See? Look at that. A whole paragraph in which I didn't mention what's-her-name once.
posted by jack at 9:28 PM
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