If I had any dignity at all, I'd stop now. But I'm deep in the weeds of my own delusion. Ahhh. The guilty pleasure of inappropriate behavior. I keep thinking of lines from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. And find myself blushing that I identify with a character that a boy, only twenty two, created long ago. But truth be told, I also Identified with Aschenbach, Thomas Mann's character from Death in Venice. Only now, at the other end of my life, can I know I feel something akin to the longing, the foolishness one will engage in to follow the sound of a voice, or the very young man who moves so beautifully you blush to feel your lust and know you are invisible now at last. Only here in my words do I exist. You have real lives. Jobs you need to keep, families to feed, husbands, wives, lovers, children. I have friends who have lives, too. But aside from the occasional visit from a female friend or two, and the weekday matinee movie date with Nick, I have no life. A strange old dog and I share a small but comfy space. I'm crazy enough to be disabled, but not too crazy to live on my own. And though I am difficult, the people who love me, love me well and for a long, long time.
But still I am a fierce bitch now and then. Since I'm crazy and have been long enough to know one when I see one, I have a friend who is approaching her fifties and really needs some therapy. She is claiming to be too busy to squeeze it in, too poor. But she's also one of the most extravagantly generous women I know, and I've known her a long time. Extravagant with her time, loading herself with social obligations and wants that must be met, yet repeats a terribly dysfunctional dynamic of the same attraction to just the same kind of wrong man. She has plenty of time for the wrong man. Really the wrong man. Three wrong men in her past and one in her present. See what I mean about being difficult? Would you want me in your real life? I have high standards for everyone. Yet I am something of a cyber slut. I have no real life in which to misbehave, so I misbehave here and hope it's harmless fun. However if I were acting like this in the real world, I'd be making an appointment to talk it out with my therapist. I'd be seeing my shrink to get a med check. Anytime I'm having too much fun, I think I might just be crazy instead.
I knew this guy was dangerous in a sweet and seemingly harmless way, but I only noticed him when he was commenting on other people's blogs. And he lives "abroad" shall we say. There is no chance in hell I'm ever going to meet him, or so I hope. Because not only is he too young, he really is the wrong kind of man for me.
Recently Randal (who lives in Cincinnati (or so he says) and not abroad, (not to say I don't adore him, but he's married with children and I don't go there, so shut up), wrote about his fondness for the Baroque Italian composers and snowy weather. I'd have to go back to Randals to look to tell you the composers name, and it's late and I'm lazy. Vivaldi was a favorite of mine, and I didn't look much farther, but I did live in Italy in the mid 1060's and I was modeling in Milan, hanging out with famous artists and the world seemed to want to be my oyster, but I didn't believe I deserved it. So, other than the Italian bassist, who was so poor he didn't have his own apartment, the men I spent time with were very well off. And eventually I ran like hell. Happiness for me? No. Not in the cards. My crazy mother wanted me to come home. She needed me.
Well, she's dead now so I can finally live my own life. And I don't really like to travel anymore. Once train travel was replaced with flying sardine cans, and then they retired the old luxury liners with cruise ships, I stopped liking to travel. I lost my sense of adventure once they started strip searching me at the airport.
Anyway, to get back to my infatuations. I knew he was potential trouble. But now I find myself stalking his site. But he isn't my first virtual crush. My first crush was Scarlet Blue. I was very sad when she dismantled her site. And now and then I find her at Fairlane's place, and notice I'm a little jealous she talks to him but not to me. Oh well, love seldom runs smooth.
I've had a thing for the Unconventional Conventionist who is a sweet and snarky peach and nothing at all like the Progressive Traditionalist who is a troll, and a pompous ass as well. No UC pierced my heart one day by letting me know he was reading my novel and had left me a musical message of a very personal sort on a certain chapter. It was sweet, lovely UC sitting at this baby grand piano playing the Whippenpoof Song of the notorious Skull and Bones fraternity.
What can I say, my daddy taught it to me. And in the chapter called Body Warmth, little eight or nine year old Judy is doing dinner dishes as she warbles the Whippenpoof song. The very real, real time, virtual man, UC, was there in my novel, at the bottom of the page, playing accompaniment to my little reedy voice as I sang the lyrics. That my dears is nothing short of magic. And it both ripped me asunder, and healed me as well. So, UC isn't really a crush at all. I really love him. I love him like a... There are no words.
But there are other virtual men I have had the occasional crush on. I now have two crushes going on simultaneously. Only two you say? Well, Dr. Ziaus has Germaine, Mathman has Dcup. Probably the rest of the men and women I have lusted after had mates of their own as well, not even imaginary mates, but real flesh and blood mates. I trust Randal's claim that he is married. Besides, he doesn't ever flirt with me, and he does flirt. Oh yes he does. Just not with me. But there are bloggers who may not really be flirting who leave such provocative comments I find my heart going pitty patter at the thought of them. Take Fairlane for instance. I ran across Fairlane at Scarlet's and then of course followed him home. (She was probably posting there.) But I found Fairlane very interesting. He is one of the funniest bloggers around. Thoughtful and smart as well. So I kept going back like a bad habit I couldn't quite break. Then every once in a while, Fairlane would visit me and commit what amounts to a virtual hit and run. He would leave a comment like "Well what about Sartre!" Like I was some dumb shit and had completely left out the main ingredient. When what I was posting about had nothing to do with the Existentialists or the early twentieth century or... What the Fuck! And I would obsess like mad trying to solve that riddle. Pure nonsense. Not exactly a crush--more like fear and insecurity.
But now I loves me some Tengrain. And I'm hungry as well. But I only have white bread. How sad.
Oh yeah, there's Kelso and his nuts. I'm overly fond of him too. He's so easy. All you have to do with Kelso is smile and nod and say, Ummmhummm? And he'll go on and on like a top sent spinning. So very satisfying.