The thighs that bind

I don't think much is talked about it, in regards to the delayed trauma. Everyone talks about the trauma at that time, or maybe the lack? But what about years later, when everything is fine. You hear some news and have to say, 'what's up with that?'

I was listening to some talk radio guys discussing the latest case of female teacher enjoying a male student, a little too much. They had a series of guys who called in and told stories of certain teachers they went to High School with and the misbehaviors.

So out of the thousands and thousands of interactions, there were some that went bad(or good). And all this made me wonder. The summer I was friends with my English teacher, RA. I used to go to her apartment, where we would sit around and shoot the breeze. Discuss what authors were talking about. Who knew the other meaning to, 'his vorpal blade went snicker, snack' It was fun, and she was a hottie, as were a few of her friends.
And then summer school was over, she changed jobs and cities. The story ends.

So now, years later, I hear stories of other teachers and I have to wonder, what was I really doing there? Yes guys, you know what pushes an instinct driven seventeen year old, through the fog of teenage hormones. But what drove her? Was I really that interesting to talk to? Come on, get real. It makes one wonder what were her motivations? I guess it wasn't my size thirteen's.

So now, years later, I have to deal what was probably simple rejection. And I thought the trauma of High school was buried in the past.



Do you think they'll believe that? Yes, my little friend tells me, they will believe the story.

Diaphanous Miss.

Isn’t it wonderful, IMs. I can chat with people all over the world now. See their pics, find out who they are. We can say things to each other that we would not say at work.
Most buddies are coworkers. Current and former. A bit like a will o’ the wisp, sometimes. You see them online, then they vanish.

They don’t exist just to chat with you. They chat with others. They keep to different schedules, different time zones. Some only log on at work. Some only at home. Broadband, dial-up, cell phone.

You see them, they drop off. You ask a question, they answer five minutes later. You see them, they don’t say hello. Are they waiting for you to notice them? Do they not feel like chatting tonight?

And some nights, no one is there.

Tonight I think I see Diaphanous Miss. But every time I reach out, it’s like grabbing at a mist.
I look in my hands and find nothing.

Oh there’s another! I think I’ll say…she is gone.

Oh well.

real and unreal

Sometimes I see something, hear something, imagine something and I get an idea for a scene. Maybe it's a good looking young woman at the airline counter. A nice smile, a pleasant voice. And then there is an idea and it takes off and runs.

Other times, I see the face, I hear the voice, the scene is set...then nothing. Just that one scene is all there is. I don't know what happens before, nor after. Who she is or why. Just that for a spilt-second, I hear what she says, see the look in her eyes and believe she has done what she said.

Perhaps someday, I'll think of the rest of the story.

Looking for Betty look alikes

She sat across from me, short blonde hair, intense blue eyes. I had not been in her city for several years and we were enjoying a beer and catching up with each other's lives.

I think we were on our second beer when I remembered what I wanted to tell her.
"You remember how I used to tell you when I saw people who looked like you?"
"I remember."
"I haven't seen any in a long time."
She took a drink of her beer, smiled a chilling smile and said. "That's because I have killed them all."

And she smiled again.

Wasting time

It's a quiet night tonight. A small storm is coming in and is keeping the fog at bay. It was fun, in an odd way, to watch the fog this weekend. W and I would take a break from putting up the wainscoting, go onto the back deck for a cig. We could see the fog sitting on the ridgeline. Sitting, waiting. As the day progressed, the fog began to move. When we stopped at five, the fog had flowed to the base of the hills, hit the base and splashed up like a giant wave. We stood there, watching the waves arc up, flow, cover the city.

As darkness falls, the fog envelops us. Thick, quiet. Soon we cannot see down the block. It is damp and cold. Not the cold of a dry 15 degrees, but a damp 45 degrees is worse.

I should email LP about the cold and damp and complain. Why it was 4o damp degrees this morning! We might get a little rain by morning. LP lives near Boston. Bet she got dumped on and has had to shovel snow. If I tell her of my rough weather, she'll tell me that I suck. She does not like being teased when her weather is bad. But I have not teased her for a while. Nor has she told me I suck.
I need that affirmation, once in a while.

GW

GW
Posted by Hello

And so it begins

Good evening.
Just a note, as I try to start this.
Not sure where this will end up going, but I'll start with trying to put in bits and pieces of my life, thoughts and say a few things that no one else ever says.

Juat remember that I strive to be a gentleman, but alas, I am just a warthog, underneath.

GW