I swore I was just going to call back, leave a message, and let that be that. I wouldn't think of it any longer.
In the "cat-mouse-mouse-cat and so on and so forth" game, I had let an appropriate amount of time elapse.
Returning a call is just good manners, after all. Isn't it?
And so the message was left.
Casual, calm, cool, collected, care-free. My voice just dripping with "c's."
And so there it is. Out in the ether, recorded, memorialized.
And that's it. Que sera, sera...right?
Given that "gato-raton-raton-gato" precedent of communications, interactions and anticipations, I shouldn't expect a response for 2 days to 3 weeks.
And it's fine. Because that's the way it is. Really.
And I know. And I expect it to be that way.
I play the game. Same as he does.
And yet, I can't stop staring at the damn phone.
I look away and then I catch myself sneaking sideways glances at it. Willing it to light up. To ring.
This is not part of the deal. No expectations. No worries. Chillin'.
Odd.
Damnit. I looked again.
Just the idea of him brings my senses to full attention. I am alternately frustrated, excited, lit up, and petrified, all in the same breath.
It is exhilarating and taxing.
It is the anomalies that bring me back. And the certain conveniences.
Familiarity breeds more familiarity. And with familiarity, there is affinity.
Affinity. That's the ticket. Non-intrusive, non-committal, boomerang like affinity.
Affinity that keeps me stealing glances at my phone.
Damnit.
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Hey Jen,
Thanks for stopping by, and thanks for the compliments. It will all go straight to my head you know. That you heard my "voice" come through in my writing is truly the highest compliment. You have made my Monday/
We should all chuck it all and go write, drink and laze about in the sun. But given that that is probably a plan best left for another day, there is just today: with the work I am avoiding, the staggering four days till full-fledged Happy Hour is acceptable, and me still staring at the damn phone.
Pretty soon, it is either going to start levitating as I move it with the power of my mind, or the people walking by my office are going to think I am attempting to have subliminal conversations with inanimate objects ("No dear, see the phone works better if you actually pick it up and open it, rather than just staring intently at it with furrowed brow.")
*Sigh*
My inner-child will apparently never learn. She is just a sucker for a pretty man with a good line. Who calls...just often enough.
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