Sorry

I haven't posted in a while. Don't know who I'm apologising to, no one reads this as far as I know. I don't mind, this is more somewhere for me to get things off my mind. Part of me romanticises it into something other people will want to read, but I really doubt that.

So I'm still in Scotland. I am staying for 32 days overall, I have one week left. I can't wait to get back. I haven't had sex since the day before I left and it's absolutely killing me. This is one constant in my life.

The girl I mentioned in my last post, I am still thinking about regularly. She is utterly gorgeous. There are certain conflicts between us, but as far as I know it's nothing major. She doesn't like Tom Waits, for example. I think he is a genius. These are minor concerns.

Our mutual friends consistently ask me how it is going with 'us'. Apparently it's quite a big deal for everyone.
I can kind of see why, I know for a fact that if my facebook status ever changed to "in a relationship" no one would believe it. I'm not that sort of person, never have been. But she makes me want to be. She makes me want to stop talking to every other girl and throw myself at her and tell her how much I care about her and shower her with gifts and drop myself into extreme poverty as long as my money is being spent on her.

I have been in Scotland for so long, I can't remember what my best friends look like. Being in Scotland has the added disadvantage of the following:
I ask myself this question regularly. It is a huge dilemma in my present life. Ready?

Do I, in fact, like this girl as much as I tell myself? She is beautiful, there is no doubt about that. She reads a lot of books, and that is both a rarity and a sought-after characteristic in a woman for me. (I read a lot of books and find it depressing that no one else does). She is witty, clever, undeniably a fantastic person.
However I have been away for so long, and apart from my male companions (who I am dying to see again, I have a very special bond with some of them and I long for same-gender company as much as I long for the warmth of a woman) I have nothing to look forward to when I return. Am I, for want of a better phrase, putting her on a pedestal? Am I creating in my head these affections because I need something to look forward when I return?

I have thought this many nights. I simply cannot tell. The only way I will be able to discern whether or not my affections for this girl are true, or a fabrication of my mind, which is currently locked away in the purgatory of north-west Scotland, is to wait until I get home and see her. I will, without a doubt, take her in my arms and kiss her and tell her she is beautiful and this will all be from the heart. I know deep within me that I cannot wait to see her. But after that, the more complex of my emotions, are just that. Complex. I need to sit with her and look her in the eyes and then I will know how true to myself I am being.

There is no doubt in my mind this girl is flawless. That is objective. That is fact. That is as true as the sky I stare at as I smoke cigarettes outside a pub, as the earth I walk on towards a cash point, or the pavement I feel under my feet as I step off a bus. This girl being perfect is as much fact as the keys my fingers are tapping on to produce these words you now read.
But my emotions towards her are much more complicated.

I have this image, in my head. I wouldn't say it's a premonition, as I cannot be sure it will happen. I suppose it is more of a fantasy.

The book I have bought her from the second-hand market in Scotland. Her favourite book. The unrevised, raw edition of Lady Chatterley's Lover published in 1944. I have this image of me handing it to her, modestly of course, telling her I hope she likes it. (I will not tell her how much I paid for it. I will not say here how much I paid for it. I believe she is worth it.)
She receives the book and I see this sparkle in her eyes. She has these wide, beautiful eyes.
She takes the book, examines it briefly, and then puts it to one side and flings her arms around me.

That is all I want. I cannot think of anything else I would rather happen to me, ever in my life. I want to see her smile and I want her to embrace me.

I read these words back as I type them. They intimidate me. This girl intimidates me. I am utterly and completely frightened, through and through, of this girl. This woman.


If there is one thing I am good at, it is not caring. About women.
I have spent several years of my life actively building up the ability to not give a shit about women.
Five or six years ago, I would care very much what happened to girls I am attracted to.
Now, I find it the easiest thing in the world to simply turn away and forget all about them. It is as easy to me as flicking a cigarette, or finished the last inch of beer in my pint glass. I think nothing more of it.

This particular girl, has me caring about her to such an extent that I dream about her.
She is in my dreams! This is almost unprecedented. I have not experienced an object of my affections within my dreams for some time, and the last time it happened, it did not end well. I am still reeling from the last time.

So this time, it has shocked me. I am constantly on guard.

I have absolutely no desire for my heart to be broken again. It is the most painful feeling anyone can ever witness. I would rather be shot, stabbed, beaten up, raped, torn apart, blown up, burnt alive, buried alive, then for my heart to be broken again. I mean these words seriously.

And perhaps this is the cause of my concern, of my indecision towards this girl.
Maybe my subconcious does not want me to immerse myself in affection for her, when really it is acting as a dam, a represas, as the Spanish say. Maybe it is holding back a torrent of emotion that I would otherwise be feeling for her. She is, after all, perfect.

Or maybe I am creating affections that do not exist, because I have no other place to direct them.

I simply cannot tell.