This morning I woke to find Facebook beeping at me with a Friend Request. Curiosity was piqued. I clicked it open and the face was unmistakeable.
About 2 years ago I had extended internet correspondence with a woman from a dating site. “Extended” is an understatement. Despite several arranged plans to meet for a drink or a coffee, each time it was cancelled with excuses that rapidly escalated on the weirdometer. She also started keeping tabs on my physical location using a feature of the chat app we used, and once even referred to the app as “iStalker”.
Eventually I worked out that she was not ultimately interested in actually meeting, and cut off contact. I learned a few things to look out for and resolved not to get sucked into a virtual “friendship” again, thereafter insisting that if someone wasn’t happy to meet face to face within a relatively rapid time-scale, there was cause for concern (unless there were definite and obviously real reasons not to that were credible). I learned that sane (ish) women had the same attitude as me.
But here, this woman was trying to make contact after a desperately long interval.
By coincidence, only a couple of weeks ago I had opined to my best buddy that I was feeling relaxed that I had pretty much let go of a lot of things in my head and heart. The very first of my internet datees got under my skin and stayed there for the longest time. Now, even she has fled, and I find myself in clear water. It’s rather a relief. It’s all very well telling people they need to let go and move on, but you can’t will it to happen. You can take practical steps to speed it along (maybe) but ultimately it happens in its own sweet time.
I would not voluntarily contact or converse with any of them; not now. And thank Christ for that.
The other thing that popped up this morning was the latest post from my favourite South African. She discussed her dilemma of whether what she wanted most right then and there was:
I thought that sounded like a damn fine list. My only addition would be “Eat” (which I pointed out to her. That might also necessitate some cooking, which is fine by me).
The trickiest part about that bucket list is that practicalities often intrude. I cannot always “waft”, as much as I would like to. The other problem is that to the casual observer, the whole think/sleep/write/dream thing can look, well, a bit inactive. It doesn’t entail making a lot of noise, the thrashing of limbs or rapid movement (well, not usually. Sex is another matter entirely, of course).