Tuesday, October 18, 2005

hmmmm...

I'm too sleepy to write anything political, or to think very hard about things controversial.

Instead, I'll share a realization I had the other day. Perhaps it's indicative of getting older, I don't know.

When I think back over romantic attachments in my past, the people I remember most fondly are seldom the ones I actually went to bed with. Rather, the almosts hold my memory: The single kisses, that for one reason or another never went any further; the flirtations, with the too-long eye-contact that never quite turned into anything. The potential interrupted. It's just irresistable.

I'm not sure what that says about me. Commitment-phobe, my ex would probably say. Heh.

How 'bout y'all?

7 comments:

TillyLost said...

The almosts have never disappointed me, hence their special status. Ex's have a negative connotation associated with them, at the very least whatever reason the relationship failed. I can dreamily idealise the almosts.

Mac said...

Tilly, YES!! Exactly! Also, you never get to know them well enough that they ever actually get on your nerves...

leap_b4_ulook said...

I think of these "almosts" and "maybes" as mental breathers--safe places where I can rest, catch my breath, and gather strength. Interesting!

TillyLost said...

Now I'm imagining all the bad habits my 'almosts' might have. Like toe nail chewing. My fantasies are ruined!

Fran said...

...I'm still trying to forget the supermarket boy--one of the most beautiful guys I've ever seen. Whatever I could see on him was just so amazing-looking. He looked perfect to me. For months I thought about him every day and every night. I reached a point where I was afraid to go into the supermarket, both afraid he wouldn't be there and afraid he would. Just catching sight of his hair would make my whole week.

I tried but I couldn't stop staring at him, caught him staring at me several times, but the couple of times I smiled at him, he wouldn't smile back at me; he seemed to dislike me, which upset me of course. Maybe he thought I was a nut. I did talk to him one time, the very first time I saw him there, and while I did, he seemed to become cold toward me: I had asked him about the plastic-bag recycling, if the supermarket actually did so, because another employee had told me the place just dumped the bags in the garbage, and this gorgeous guy had just happened to be collecting the bags for the supposed recycling. Maybe I put him on the spot on his first-ever night working there, and that's why he became cold to me forevermore. I don't know. Guess I never will.

Not only have I never touched this guy, I don't even know his name. And I haven't seen him there in three months; I guess he's gone--from the supermarket, not from my head. Oh well.

Tish Grier said...

the older I get, the more people I remember (yeah, like I'm *ancient*, but hitting that point of mid-40's does give one an odd perspective)

But the ones I remember fondest were the ones I could never really have, but who managed to be friends---the married professional opera singer for one (a baritone--beautiful voice); my first ex-husband; my very first boyfriend. I would *seriously* like to forget my last ex-husband, but I think that one's going to take a very long time. I still have nightmares about him...

But I know that the guy I call Lucky Bastard will, once he's gone, be another fond memory...and I know that it has to do not just with his pretty boy good looks but also his unavailability.

Anonymous said...

As usual, the Simpsons has the answer.

"It's not the deed. It's not the memory. It's the anticipation!"

-Owen
www.bootsandsabers.com