I’m well aware that there are pitfalls to having a crush (as documented here); one of the most common mistakes is to “progress the relationship” in one’s mind, so to speak.  We’ve all done it – you meet some guy at a party, you exchange e-mails (or whatever), and before you even go out, you’ve imagined the two of you, walking hand in hand, or maybe staying in be on a rainy Sunday…That in itself isn’t so bad, as long as you know it’s pure (ok, maybe not so pure) fantasy.  So sure, I may have worked myself into a certain state of veritable “fremissement” (for lack of an appropriate word in English) of anticipation, but I did return to reality by Monday, though.

Yes, it is true that I chose my outfit carefully (good butt capris), tamed the frizziness of my hair, and put on makeup.  You might even say I was loaded for bear, if you must, and that I was ready to bring my “A” game.  I get to work, and GSS isn’t there.  Ok, so he’s a little late.  Then more time passes.  When I’m working with students, it isn’t so very bad, but during my down time, I can’t help looking towards the door.  It got so bad, that I had to move to a different table under some pretext to keep my twitchiness under control.  And yes, it is a flexible workplace, and he’s a grown man; if no one has a problem with altering his hours from time to time, he has all the right in the world to do so.  Still, it got me thinking:  I spent the better part of the weekend wondering if he might ask me out, and I took extra time getting ready for work, all in anticipation of seeing him.  Our hours are common knowledge – if he was interested, don’t you think he’d make a point of being there when I’m there, if it is within his power?  Just a thought.

Oh sure, he smiled and waved when he finally blew in.  And yes, he eventually made what I consider to be a flimsy pretext to come over and talk to me.  Okay, he also eventually moved over to my table (also on a somewhat specious pretext).  And we caught each other’s glances.  But we were both busy, and he missed a good hour where we could have gotten some quality flirting in, if he had been so inclined.

And yes, I’m only slightly embarrassed to admit it – I did check out his ass.  But only because it was less obvious than trying to make eye contact (all right, not only because of that).  It was worth checking out, though he wears his pants a touch loose.

But this is my problem:  much like George Constanza, I am suddenly preoccupied with “hand” in this proto-relationship.  I’m pretty sure I have next to no hand, and after spending the past two years either in an evolved relationship where “hand” was not an issue, or getting over said evolved relationship, worrying about hand seems like too much trouble.  While I was waiting for the bus this afternoon, I had a mini-epiphany (it’s been a long time since I’ve shared one of my public-transportation epiphanies):  no wonder people get married, even if they’re not terribly in love.  Some days you want to say, “fuck it,” and just not bother with the whole mess.  I mean, really – I’ll be the first one to admit that my pre-crush existence was lacking a certain…zest.  But here I am, worrying about the degree of attraction some guy may or may not have for me, when I have a downright scary list of things I actually should be worrying about:  my grades, my grad school applications, money…look at me, I had a perfectly acceptable day, but because said guy didn’t flirt with me as much as I would have liked, I’m grouchy.  And just when I get a good head of steam about how I should bag the whole thing, even if his entrance at work did cause my heart to jump out of its place for a split second…I see it:  an older woman, probably in her late 60s, got off the bus, carrying her briefcase, when a little old man (whom I assumed to be her husband) greeted her at the stop, took her briefcase from her, and they walked together from the bus stop back home.

That’s when I thought, “Crap.”  Not that I have any illusions about GSS being my future little old man, greeting me at the bus stop.  But I would like that level of intimacy (someday).  And try as I might to cram that down and concentrate on all the other things I want to do with my life, that other, inconvenient, possibly unrealistic idea of having someone to spend your life with will not stay away.

And that’s probably why I’ll never say, “fuck it.”

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