“I’m not in love, so don’t forget it, it’s just a silly phase I’m going through…”
You have to listen to this song. Its by some random white dudes called 10cc and its bloody amazing, simple yet complex, many voices layered together to create a sound of such brilliant depth… amazing! The reason I’m gushing over a song done when I can’t have been more than a year old? Because I live alone, and work alone, and I have two friends, and no cat. This is what excites me these days, music, more accurately the disturbingly large amount of music on the internet (and here I thought it was only good for porn and bootleg episodes of 24, but I digress…). The song? I stumbled upon a cover version of the same on a Queen Latifah album that blew me away, but as I listened I realised I knew the song, ‘must be a cover… figures!’ I thought. But a cover of whom? The problem was, I knew I knew the song, but I couldn’t remember why.
Now if you live alone, with no cat, and have a mild case of OCD, this is the kind of thing that can drive you to insanity. The hook just kept playing in my head, over and over again like a stuck CD, so finally I got up in frustration and snapped open my phone and googled the title, and lo and behold, welcome to the world of 10cc. I’m now hooked, hell at this point I’m thinking of making a pilgrimage to whatever godforsaken frozen wasteland in the north they currently reside in, just so I can look any one of them in the eye and say thank you, thank you for possibly one of the greatest ballads ever written… except for the bit with the girl whispering in the middle, that’s just odd.
This post will probably make sense if I point out that I may or may not be in the process of falling for a new man. Unfortunately, I don’t think he feels the same. Actually, that’s putting it mildly, sometimes I get the distinct impression he’d like nothing more than for me to disappear off the face of the earth. And considering I think I’ve morphed into crazy stalker woman (CSW), who can blame him no? ‘Aaahhhh!’ I hear you say, ‘She’s one of those ones…’ I’m not. Really, I’m not! On a normal day I’m an unemotional cold bitch who doesn’t give a shit about your ‘feelings’ and other such like touchy feely crap. ‘Get over it!’ is my standard response to the mind numbing array of emotional problems my (and I use this term loosely) friends are constantly assaulting me with. So for me to tell you I’ve become a CSW, be afraid, be very afraid…
Let me lay it out for you, then you decide just how bad it’s gotten.
I met this guy 4-5 months ago, and we hit it off, he was warm and funny, and so bloody smart, and I was my (not) normal charming sexy self, and for the first month it was the bliss of getting to know someone new. The hour long conversations about anything and everything under the sun, the shy flirting, the constant laughter, the stupid grin plastered on your face every time you think about the idiot… That phase, all one month of it, was just lovely. And then we met (don’t ask me many questions, just go with it…), and we really hit it off, he turned out to be even smarter, and sexy! At that point I was thinking ‘this man might just be worth the time’ and anyone who’s dated in this town has to know how serious a statement that is.
So there I am, happily cruising along in my ‘could be something’ bliss, and all of 2 weeks later the man starts acting iffy. ‘Iffy how?’ you ask. It started off simply, he blew me off, once, then again, the second time with no explanation, no contact for 3 days. One would think I’d have read the writing on the wall at that point but nooooo… He stopped calling, or texting, and when I’d call, he’d be very busy, promise to call back, and of course he wouldn’t. At this point you’re probably laughing to yourself wondering how thick I am not to have seen the signs, don’t worry, I’m laughing too. Thing is, writing this shit down it seems so obvious I’m wondering why I refused to accept it. Please note, I didn’t say see it, I said accept it, because I saw it, I even raised my concerns with said idiot (feeling slightly idiotic about that now mind you), but while my rational mind was saying this bugger is backing off so let it go, the foolish girl in me was insisting that that was not the case. Cue irrational behaviour…
Now for those of you who don’t know this, a crazy stalker woman is the bastard offspring of the rational grown ass woman you are and the irrational 13 year old girl with acne and a flat chest you used to be (don’t deny it, we all have one inside us ladies, don’t we?). CSW is one part calculating, one part devious, three parts hormonal and one part lust. Think Sharon Stone ’s character in Basic Instinct meets Samuel Wanjiru
So the man was not so slowly becoming unavailable, and I was getting increasingly frustrated at his unexplained behaviour, so I called him out on it, with disastrous results (not surprisingly…). You see, right at the beginning, I’d made it pretty clear that I’m not the flinging type of chick (I am sometimes, but that’s not the shit you’re going to tell a man you’ve just met is it?), and he explicitly stated that he wasn’t looking to funga, that’s why it took a month to actually meet up, there was no rush. And then… nothing! The idiot vanishes on me! If the man is to be believed, he sunk into a vicious cycle of guilt and alcohol, exacerbated by a ridiculous work schedule, all combining to make him unavailable, I believe his exact phrase was “I’m lacking in motivation, for anything”. Now when a man starts talking lack of motivation, my CSW pulls out her ice pick! The harder I pushed the harder he ran, away, like in the opposite direction. A couple of weeks later I finally gave up pushing and decided to let him be, I was starting to feel a bit embarrassed at how desperate I seemed (stop laughing, this is a true story!).
For the next month or so that’s how it went, I’d call once a week to check up on him (seeing as how he was struggling with his motivation issues, and yes, I do realise how stupid that sounds). But just as I was on the cusp of complete separation, at the point when I had finally come to terms with the fact that he just wasn’t feeling my ass, just then, what do I do? You guessed it, I stopped by his house. The next thing I knew I was right back in it. Why did I stop by? Because I wanted to see him, I suspect it was a last ditch attempt to resuscitate the dying horse (already flogged to death, but my CSW has been known to overlook such minor technicalities). And in my defence, he seemed happy to see me, he cooked me dinner and everything! In retrospect, he probably cooked because he was hungry, and I was there, but the point is he cooked. It’s not looking too good for me right now, is it? Anyhow, that was a couple of weeks ago, and since then he’s been somewhat more attentive, and I’ve been somewhat less CSW. Things are ok, not too hot, not too cold, just… there.
So what’s my problem? Its simple really, my CSW thrives on drama (she claims to be a passionate woman, she’s a lover not a fighter…), a relationship that’s ‘just there’ is her idea of hell. She’s probably looking for some hysterical man who’s sulking half the time and erratic the rest of the time (there’s a story there, but I’ll save it for another day…). Now when I was 21 that was just lovely, but more than a decade later I don’t think so! On the one hand I’m craving the excitement of the new ‘thing’ (not sure I get to call it a relationship, and yes, I know how stupid that sounds…), but on the other hand, I cant wait for the calm security of actually knowing how someone feels towards you, the confidence you get from being desired… that trumps excitement any day of the week and twice on Sundays!
And having come to this conclusion, I now have the unenviable task of trying to force my CSW back into her little box at the back of the closet that’s my subconscious. It wont be easy, she’s a stubborn little thing, and slightly evil, she’s been known to discover imaginary thongs belonging to imaginary women hanging in his bathroom (that actually happened once, long time ago, and I completely lost it, only to realise a few minutes later that said thong was a jock-strap type thingi. Definitely one of my more embarrassing moments…). As I was saying, its time to put the craziness aside and get on with it, either the man likes me and it works out, or he doesn’t and I get back into the cesspool that is dating in this our fair city.
Oh joy!
