Watching

Not like "stalking"...stalking was what my high school sweetheart did once I cut him off. Matt was too lazy to show up at my doorstep in Ohio, but he sure did know when I was coming back home. He would call my house and work, he sent letters to where I lived in Ohio, he would show up at my seasonal job in Michigan. It was so bad that I stopped telling people when I was in town. It's one of the reasons why I lost touch with many of my high school friends. Matt did it for a year before he finally stopped. He may have done so because he finally realized that I just wasn't interested anymore.

But the stuff I'm talking about isn't of that type. I was talking to a friend of mine about "drive-bys"...not shootings, but "drive-by watching." Basically it's when you drive by the house of someone you are either interested in, have feelings for, are dating, or whatever. The motives vary. It can be because you're wondering if he's home like he said he was, or even if you're wondering if the man in question has more of a "life" than you do. If the light's on in his house or apartment, and his car is there, chances are that he is there. What do you do with that information. Absolutely nothing.

Embarrassingly enough, I can't say I've never done it. Some of my friends have also done it. I've been with friends when they've insisted on doing drive-bys. But it kind of means that the person is circulating through your head.

Speaking of circulation, Nikolai can't seem to help himself. So he's been chronically reading my blog some more...this under the category of "virtual watching," in the same family as the drive-bys. And not only that. He's been getting his "read" on at school, too. Right now, I'm on the grad student computer in our department, and I noticed when I checked my email that the last to do so was Nikolai. So I looked up the browser history, and the last time the computer was used was Tuesday. I'm assuming only one person used it because only a few of us are in town for the summer, and of those in town, only a very short list of people would actually show up at the school to do anything. Besides, a short number of sites were viewed, and a great deal were sites from his home country (and considering he's the only person from his country in our department and the only one in town that can speak his native language, who else?). So I noticed that my website was listed. Hmmm.

This has moved from quite amusing to kind of annoying. What annoys me is that he is the one who wanted space from me more than anything. Granted, I wanted space from him too, but to be honest I wasn't as willing as he was to throw everything away. But what I don't understand is why, if he was so willing to pitch our friendship, he even cares about what I write? I don't get the psychology. It makes absolutely no sense to me. Doesn't he have other things to worry about - e.g. dissertation, life, etc. - to be in any way concerned about what I say?

And even more to the point...if he spends every day read about my life (or at least the parts of my life I choose to share), then why won't he just talk to me? Obviously, he thinks about me, or else he wouldn't be reading up on my life.

But then again, why do I even care? Honestly, I still can't forget how evil he's treated me ever since California and especially Chicago. There is a part of me that has forgiven but not forgotten. I really, really hate him, because of how deceptive I feel he had been towards me. Leading me on, then treating me like shit when I turn out to be human. You don't forget stuff like that. Yet a part of me misses him, and I don't understand why.

And speaking of all this, I am irritated with the course of my life. I haven't even dated in seven years. My love life seems to always turn out the same. I'm tired of predictability. So tired I don't know what to do. And considering my health issues, which affect my ability to have children, my biological clock ticks just a little louder and faster than most. I want to get married. And I really want to be a mother. But I can't even get a date. What the hell is up with that?