“Gattina paces in circles around her cage and finally throws herself against the bars, screaming in agony, while you dangle the key from your finger and smile that smile. When Gattina's eyes focus, she sees you are not even looking at her but up and beyond.” - Julia's sad heart
“Stop running! Put those walls down!” Sue yells at me. “Don't turn down a chance to be happy!” David councils. When did I become such a scaredy-cat? I wonder. Just because I really like a lovely person, must I turn into a raving idiot? It's true, even Gattina fantasizes about finding The One. The Trio has been an amazing experience but I always felt it had a finite amount of time. I don't know if it is over. Can we know such things? I don't know that The One is out there either but hiding from the possibility and pushing away every viable man is just silly.
I really like Reuben but have the sneaking suspicion that I have already cocked it up. I don't know how I did it but am seeing why. My mother has been married 5 times, each ending a unique pain for her... and for me. Communication, my friends advise. It may be too late, I fear. I may never see his father's house, commiserate with his sister about our unique problems, or feel the beautiful pleasure of knowing I will be in his bed every night. Hell, he may never even see me again though with the pleasure we have given each other, I wouldn't understand that. If that happens, I will not be bitter but I will be sad. I have never been able to properly dam emotions- they come out somehow. In my journal today I wrote, Insincerity? No, I don't understand it well. Never could stop the emotional flow that way. Walls, yes no doubt but never insincerity. I hold stubbornly to my genuine heart- it is all I really have.
I am sitting in a dingy but cosy little pub called The Railway in Sydenham. I can feel my face pulling gaunt and worried over its bones. I sip at a pint of cider and try to control the jitters in my legs. My mobile sits next to me on the little table and I beg it to ring. I am not sure if I should call him. What do I say? I would like to have a direct conversation with you, absent of my melodrama and our banter? Sounds scary and serious. Maybe just try to leave him alone for the evening and focus elsewhere. I asked Simone to have dinner with me this week. Would be good to see him. David said that Matteo's impending return may have a big effect on how this all turns out. Maybe I should discuss it with the barkeep. They're all supposed to be sages, right?! Can you imagine? “So I've been in this Trio for awhile and am now afraid I am falling for a guy I met 2 weeks ago but don't know how he feels. What do I do?”
On another, but related, subject... my credit card situation is finally sorting itself. Again from my journal, A weekend up the “penniless and alone” tree in London. Might not have been so bad if I wasn't also mooning over some guy. I've been homeless and penniless before, my dears. Not exactly picnics and rainbows but doesn't truly scare me. Clever little monkey, you know. ;)
I am getting completely sick of Ghalib and his riddles. Picked up a copy of Khayyam's Rubaiyat for Reuben today printed in 1918. Gods, I love old books! They smell wonderful! I desecrated the volume (in pencil, you bibliophiles!) with notes on my favourite quatrains. I accept myself as a sensualist and don't know if I should aspire to more: The vine had struck a fibre: which about If clings my being- let the Dervish (Sufi) flout; Of my base metal may be filed a key, That shall unlock the Door he howls without. Says my old friend, Khayyam. May as well stay a base sensualist right?
The men in the pub are speaking in a thick Scottish brogue and one just stopped to show me photos of Glasgow. Now they are telling me stories about how the British food is bad so they take turns going to Scotland and bring back enough food for all. Offered me some blood pudding. Not tonight, thanks. They assumed I was French. I get that a lot. Perhaps it is the sassy, oversexed vibe I give off. Pertinacity. A quality I am proud to possess.
I must share what has been transcribing! An elderly gent from the bar (apparently named George) came over to chat with me. This was fine except that he is entirely unintelligible. He seems such a sweetie, I wish I could understand him but, ye gods! The Scotchmen rescued me by telling him he had a phonecall. -I cheers to them through my laughing eyes and red cheeks.- They have been asking about my writing and it has been requested that I mention in my book that the gents here has no water and smells bad. It has also been told to me that my eyes are deep and are like pearls, my teeth are like shells from the sea, my hair is like captured sunbeams, and my skin is like a ripe peach. I asked if everyone from Scotland is so charming. What followed was a fag and a poetry discussion about leaves and waves. People are all so interesting. Everyone has a story to tell and a way to tell it. This is the way I choose to tell mine and I commit it to you with all sincerity and trust.
P.s. This is for you, Suz! I talked on the phone with my crush and told him that I didn't view him as a toy. I told him I really like him and hoped maybe he could like me too. My face was on fire and I was kicking my toe into a chair the whole time but I managed to choke it out. I even admitted that I run away from people I like because I'm a chicken. He asked me to have dinner with him the next night so we could talk further. He also said he has been self protecting emotionally because he thinks I will abandon him one way or the other (good call, David and Jonathan!). I am nervous but excited and it is truly a relief!
