It is interesting to me what makes people tick. It is also interesting to me what goes through peoples minds sometimes.
Let me explain…and whilst I do I am aware that some of you reading this might consider this a good thing and others will think of me as an arsehole….you are probably all correct.
I had an “encounter” last Friday night. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t sought, it just…happened. The entire “encounter” lasted under 4 hours from the conversation starting until she left the apartment. One of “those” nights I suppose (although they rarely happen to me). I alluded in my last post to a mysterious note that was left on my computer. The note basically gave me her phone number telling me to call if I wanted to see her again, and then ended with “Thankyou for opening so many doors for me”. It is this last bit I am confused about.
I don’t recall being particularly chivalrous, and even if I was…there are only 3 doors that are in the way of the route that we took. Does 3 count as “so many”? I suppose it depends on your outlook…if you live in a building full of windows and get into your apartment through a catflap…I suppose 3 could be quite a lot. I tried to think back over the night for any door related activities…I know I opened the pub toilet door an a number of occasions…possibly even on many occasions….but I can say with (some) certainty….I wasn’t with her during my trips to the toilet. The door to the Anglo is permanently open whilst the pub is serving, and is in fact held open with some kind of futuristic hook device…so I know I didn’t need to open that one. Clearly we are referring to some form of metaphorical door, which is far too deep for a hangover to deal with…so I did the next best thing and went back to bed.
After waking up in the same amount of confusion, and after spending most of Saturday wondering about doors, I failed to phone her and went out again. During my evening of consuming “Jugs of doom ™”, I recieved a phonecall from the Anglo….telling me that someone had called to ask if I was there, every hour…for around four hours. Thankfully, S resolutely refused to give out my number and instead said that they would pass her number onto me. Having dodged that bullet…I continued with the drinking and thought no more of it. Again, I failed to call on the Sunday, although this time it was as I was somewhat scared that I might return to my apartment one day and discover a bubbling pan filled with a bunny rabbit that I don’t own. The situation was discussed on Monday night with JW, where the options were weighed up:
Call her..explain that it was a spur of the moment, one night thing. Apologise if necessary and move on
Don’t call her..risk her visiting the Anglo on Friday or Saturday night this week and take the inevitable slap that will head my way at this point.
It was decided in a fit of macho bravado and testosterone/beer fuelled decision making, that I would take the slap. The reasoning being that it might not happen…and if it did, it might gain me some kudos points. Let’s face it, the world loves a bastard. It also stopped me from having to admit that I can’t remember what she looks like.
Then yesterday…I get home as usual after work, check my mailbox and discover a letter addressed to me. People generally don’t send me letters…well they do, but they are rarely handwritten and are generally asking for money. That said, I knew immediately who it was from. Sure enough, it was from my ‘encounter’….again, getting very very deep for someone that knew me for less than 4 hours…and the “me” she met was hammered on copious amounts of German Beer and Jagermeister.
Now I know that it is possible to feel a connection with someone pretty quickly, we have all of us (at some point) been speaking to someone that we feel like we have known for years after 5 minutes. Knowing these things, however, does not equip me with the tools to understand what is happening here. How do you form an obsession with someone you don’t know. I can only think that she is one of those “Superfans” of the Addams Family and has an unhealthy Uncle Fester fixation.
Have you ever stalked or been stalked? What caused it or how did you deal with it?
Oh…and does anyone want to rent a flat above an Irish bar? One careless owner…