Damn It- I did it again.

This morning, I told myself: if I see him online, I will not initiate a conversation. I will wait for him to initiate. I will. And he probably won't, but that's ok. If he doesn't, I'll tell myself that it's because he doesn't see that I'm on. Either that or he's really busy or he's about to leave and doesn't have time to talk. I told myself that. I promised myself I would not be the first to say something. I made my decision.

Then I saw him online. And I waited. I waited like I said I would . I waited 2 minutes. After 2 minutes I started to think of reasons why I should say something. Did he get my e-mail? Did he get the part where I said I'd sent him something? Could he tell me where to have it resent? did he know how much I liked the videos he'd posted? When would he be continuing on his journey? So many questions. "I could ask him tomorrow," I told myself. But what if he's not on tomorrow? "I should just ask him those questions right now and then TOMORROW not say anything unless he says it first".

So... I... said hi. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I am so weak. I cannot resist this man. Frick. And he couldn't even talk because he was busy having an important conversation with someone, so it was particularly unsatisfying. Now I feel like an idiot. I need to back off. I need to "insert space here". I need to get a grip. I need to distract myself from this wonderful man who has me rolling over with a twitch of his eye. I need to implement some kind of boycott, some kind of ban. I wish I could shut off my mind, my fantastic mind that constantly thinks of new scenarios in which all of my dreams come true. My fantasizing mind that, from the moment I'm awake, fixates at a frequency on which this man is the inspiration for every song, the focal point of every picture, the hero of every great adventure. It's impossible. I'd have to cease to form coherent thoughts, to make deliberate movements, and to vocalize spoken language. I'd have to surgically remove my heart, go through life permanently hypnotized (not unlike where I'm at currently), pluck the memory cells from my well-formed brain. I'd have to erase all thoughts of his soothing voice, his warm body, and his laughing eyes. I'd have to vanquish the feeling of his kisses and caresses, the memory of tightness as his arms go around me, the rumbling as he laughs against me. I'd have to pretend I'd never seen in his soul something that made sense to me, that I'd never heard him speak and marveled at the way in which I could relate to his words. That I'd never laughed myself silly at his jokes or fallen easily asleep wrapped up in the hollow of his embrace.

So basically I'm screwed. Great. But he doesn't need to know that. I need to maintain some sort of mystery. If I'm going to fight for this, I need to fight well, to fight the way women fight when they really do want to see their dreams come true. I should go for what I really want. If I don't get it, well then, at least I know that I didn't deny myself the fight for what I deeply desired. And so I quest to reconcile my true feelings and my need to retain my dignity and allure. Damn difficult task.

I probably shouldn't look at any pictures of him. Or hear his voice. Or think about him in any way....