September 6, 2011 § 15 Comments
I am not going to pretend that the email which came through at 18.53 yesterday evening was a riot of romance.
It was pragmatic, more, referring to a work arrangement that had been made weeks ago, though it did sign off, “See you soon, Love S”, which is marginally more promising than Best Wishes, I guess, but with the emphasis very realistically on the marginally.
One of my wise and loyal commentators advised me not to respond till today – for which sincere thanks; incidentally, are you a man or woman? – and I did think about this for a long time and my old self would know that the suggestion was spot on. In fact, my old self would have thought it conservative, because in the past I would have left it three days before replying. But on reflection I decided my old self had done me precious few favours in my youth and perhaps I should begin a new, more honest approach: to respond when it suited me ie. a few hours after I got his email, in the same way I wouldn’t hesitate to reply to a family member or friend at a convenient time to myself regardless of the impression it was or wasn’t making on the recipient. Cool games take time and are – radical thinking for me – perhaps not so essential, perhaps the luxury of callow youth? I don’t have time – months and months to be cool as I did in my twenties. Age beckons. Also, I don’t want to play games; not only time-consuming, they are also exhausting and tedious and anyway not guaranteed to work. Once, someone told me I must write only to please myself because then I could be sure of pleasing at least one person. If I tried to please a varied, anonymous and amorphous audience, I would be bound to fail. So true. The same with plankton romance (or lack of it?!) I want to be myself or the resulting (we hope!) relationship would be based on falsehood. Anyway, I am too weary to pretend to be something other. The best and most honest relationships in my life have been with those with whom I have been myself. If people ring/text/email me, I can no longer be arsed to answer with cool delay or silence.
So it was, against Redbookish’s sound advice, I replied to Smidgen’s email when it suited me (supper over; children in bed), last night, and with equally friendly pragmatism.
This morning brought its reward. I woke to another from him promising to try to call me today.
We shall see. The phone remains dormant thus far but he is busily back at work and, right now, doubtless having lunch.
Progress of sorts all the same.
Naturally, I shall report back later today or tonight if I hear anything.
I am not exactly sitting with my finger hovering above the green button but, all the same, every darn thing remotely crossable is bullishly crossed; all the more so because Janey has heard fuck all from Long Shot.