Yesterday was a frustrating day in personal human resource management. I deleted Mr NYE’s messages, kicked him off my hotlist and filed him away in my mental rubbish bin. I must’ve accidentally put him in the mental recycling bin because he came back.
He lost his mobile phone.
I didn’t know whether to feel guilty for lambasting his name or to ask him nicely to fuck the hell off.
A couple of days is brief enough for an explanation to be true but long enough for my bullshit detector to glow a soft red in warning. Knowing when someone isn’t being truthful is easier after having met and dug a little into their motivations, but this still-invisible man has the art of mind games well and truly mastered.
He said he was available for a few consecutive days so I picked a day, the suburb and a time to meet and asked him to choose a café and get back to me.
I think he’s lost his phone again. Funny that. There are lots of cafés in the suburb I chose, too.
ArmyDude made a tactical and timing error by sending me a ‘I miss you a lot’ message while I was despatching Mr Which New Year’s Eve. I replied with terse feedback about my place at the bottom of his ladder of priorities and I’m trying not to think about him because it’s easier on me (me, me, me, me, me). He didn’t respond – come to think of it, he never does when dissent or an argument is brewing. Absence is starting to cure my overly fond heart and perhaps ending contact with him would be better for my wellbeing than gorging on last-minute scraps of time, enjoyable as they are. I could end it today via an impersonal means like the mobile phone, but he deserves more than that. Unfortunately, more than that is face-to-face contact which is when I’m weakest with him. Fuck. I’ll sort it out another day.
I don’t think I’ve annoyed anyone else. Perhaps it’s unresolved sexual tension that a licking or bottom smacking or two will fix. On that, the inspiration for the two-week rule in my previous post has made some calls and found a terribly seedy motel for some exploration and enjoyment (of each other, not the motel). He used the word ‘sordid’ and I’m excited as all get-up about that. Nervous, too, and we haven’t even kissed, but I’m sure that will get sorted out along the way.
I enjoy the task of assigning a codename to someone new. He travels and could be anywhere at any particular time, lives the inner-city lifestyle but seems happy enough going barefoot in the park, and could stroll the streets and charm everyone in his path. And I already know he has a thrilling sense of adventure. I hope he likes Urban Vagabond – I say that because he’s the only person apart from my partner who is aware of this blog and, while I’m sure we won’t be indulging in mutual censorship because we’ll have more enjoyable pursuits to engage in, I still hope he likes it.