Firstly I really want to say thank you for your comments on yesterday's post. I know it was a bit of a jumbled mess of words, as it turns out my 'stream of consciousness narrative' (oh, I use the term loosely) isn't quite as streamy as, say, Virginia Woolf's. Maybe it's more like a 'stagnant pool of consciousness' or 'whirlpool', or even 'cesspool' of consciousness. And there I go again with the inexplicably long sentences. Sigh.
My point is, thank you. Your comments and emails really helped me regain some sense of perspective. I basically have decided that I don't want to dwell on the events of the weekend. I am making a choice to exclude all that shit from my life and move on properly. I could go further into it, and there is still a part of me that wants to explain in detail what happened, just so you can all gasp in horror and tell me to burn/staple things places and tell me I'm great and deserve more, but... no. It's better for all of us if I just say that I was hurt, and then again and again, and, frankly, I'm not putting myself in that position any more.
Except for when I deliberately put myself in the hands of bizarre eastern European men with drills. Ah. Yes.
So. Strange this happened to me today (and it's only 11.07am! Jam-packed, I tell you)
This morning I was marching confidently (read: stumbling blindly) out of the tube station on my way to work, and my peripheral gaze landed upon someone I recognized. My brain being dangerously coffee-deprived as it was, I couldn't quite place him. My thought process may well have gone something like this.
Brain: (blank blank blank-y blank) People in way. Sun in eyes. Sunglasses. Ah, better, can see.
People people people (blank blank) person person pers..wait.. back..baaack.. him! Who's he? Celebrity? No. Relation? No. Ex-boyfriend (panic mildly)? No. (PHEW)
Sooo.. blank. Blanker.
Ah HA. Got it.
It was somebody I met three years ago. In New Zealand.
I KNOW. That's far, far away from Old Street tube station.
I debated for a couple of moments as to whether I should go and tap him on the shoulder and say Hi. I assessed what state my hair was in (not good. Had been using my sunglasses to push my fringe [or bangs if you're 'merican] out of my eyes, so it was a bit stick-y out-y) what I was wearing (could've been better, shabby in general) and my capacity for conversation (well, that's always a gamble at best).
Then I thought oh, stop being such a big GIRL and go and say hello. So I tapped him on the arm and he turned around, took his earphones out and looked at me extremely quizzically. As if to say "I have no idea whether there is a reason you just did that but there sure as hell better be one, and it had better be good".
So I said, tentative to the extreme,"er.. Olly.. right?" (big smile, hopeful expression) and he looked baffled and a little scared and nodded confusedly. I started to panic a little bit at this point, because if it had been the wrong person that would be embarrassing, but fine, laughable. More kind of, Oh silly me! than anything else. But if I recognized him and he WAS who I thought he was and I was just a blur to him.. more embarrassing. Because (did I mention?) I have to admit, there was a little.. ahem.. flirtation with this guy when we met (read: full sex [kidding] [I'm so not kidding] [no.. I am]). So I don't want him to have forgotten me.
But. Luckily for my ego..
" Léonie! Oh sorry! Hi!.." and a conversation ensued.
Thank The Lord and All His Seraphims (I thought to myself. My ego does not need any more shit).
And he is a bit of a Hotty McFitty. Not that I am looking, of course, but it was nice. As if the Universe had sighed wearily and said to itself "Oh there's nothing else for it. I think we're going to have to give this one a Sign. It's ok, she'll pay for it later when she gets held captive by those rabid monkeys and is forced to teach them French for three years whilst standing on her head. I guess we can do this for her now."
I mean, I really am NOT, repeat NOT interested in starting anything with anyone*. But it kind of made me aware that there was so much of my life before this particular period of time that has hurt me so much, and that, if I am to follow logic, there will be more exciting stuff to come as well.
Also I think you'll agree that it is ALWAYS nice when a Hotty McFitty that you may or may not have slept with three years ago remembers your name...
*To clarify, I really don't believe that just because this guy just about remembered my name (more of an impressive feat that you might think, though), it NECESSARILY means he's in love with me and wants to bear my children (or whatever).