Confined Diplomacy
I have been sliding by for a while now, on a plain as the Nirvana song goes. I’m under direct assault from many different sides, financially, professionally, my wife and finally, this new dog that likes to chew everything to shreds.
This dog is truly cunning and downright ruthless in her approach to her selected targets. She always probes for weaknesses prior to any engagement. In fact, I’m astonished to find that she seems to be familiar with the battle tactics employed by the Sioux at Little Bighorn. Her foes stand no chance going in.
I knew her tendencies but, last week I made the fatal mistake of leaving her unattended in the house while I went to the bathroom. In the 90 seconds I was out of sight she decided the sofa was as vile an object as she had ever seen and launched a devastating blitzkrieg attack that left the sofa, well, defeated with no question. Heaps of pristine white batting from the now annihilated cushions littered the living room floor telling the story of the battle. Her pride in this piece of work was evident as I watched her tail wave wildly from side to side.
She clearly still had the adrenalin rush going from this her latest kill when she glanced up to se me standing there in the hall with my mouth gapping open. When I shot her my patented look of death, she cowered and went for the door. She knew I was at Defcon 1 and the full nuclear package was probably warm and ready to fly.
She flinched first though.
I stood down.
Thus go the diplomatic missions at my house.
From Russia with Love
Last summer I had started receiving mail from a Russian address. She said her name was Natasha. She wanted just to be friends and write back and forth. She sent her picture. “Loving eyes” was the first impression I had. Deep, round, green pools of adoration for the right person at the right time in the right place.
We started writing. Very chatty for the first several exchanges. This didn’t exactly follow the typical scam pattern I had read about doing research on the area she said she was from. None the less, almost everything I read on the place said it was scam central.
The mailer was patient with me, slowly guiding me along. Finally she surfaced the professions of deep feelings and love for me. With each mail after that she continued to describe how she felt and how I made her feel.It was nice to have that sort of attention paid to me.Now, it fit the pattern though. The hook was just delayed. I found by all available accounts that I was probably mailing a group of scamers. Probably men on top of that.
Even though my head said Natasha was just a prop, my heart wanted to hear more of those words. I kept writing right up through the request for funds so she could make travel arrangements. My head told my heart “see? I told ya so.”
My heart told my head “just for that crack I’ll make you believe fairytales still happen. Ha!”.
And it did. And I do.
Why am I such a sap?
Why do I cling to this notion that “it” meaning - two people meeting their dream mate at the same time and they happen to be the same two people - can still happen?
I found the following blurb I wrote after I had received the “hook” mail.
Somewhere in the world there is a girl that is the one in the picture. I know this.
Somewhere there is a human who has put together a set of words that gave me feelings.
They are not the same person.
I know this.
I look into the picture’s eyes though and read the letters in my head and I feel loved and in love. It is nice to feel that again – even if it is a mirage.
Maybe somewhere in the world there is a girl who can feel about me as the letters said.
Perhaps anyway.
It would be more than a dream if they were really the same - If the letters were actually written through those same eyes in the picture.
It would be a miracle on high if I could actually be with her. Just her.
I want my other half. I thought I had her but, I was wrong.
I think now I’ll never find her. I will move aimlessly through this life.
It’s nice to think that another life will happen – unaware of the last or the next but, really in my heart I feel everything ceases never to be again.
In the end does it matter if I was loved the way I love the person I’m missing?
Not after the darkness, but in all points up to it.
