Speaking of plains, I heard back from Crackie. He said he had put "in a complicated relationship" on his FB page, months ago, not because he's seeing anybody, but because he metaphorically-views all of his relationships in his life as "complicated," his relationships with his family, his friends, himself, then he went off on a philosophical sermon about all his complications, his depression, his salvage business and his life as an asexual hermit living in his cabin out along the plains.
Which, oddly, I believe because he really is that eccentric and odd. But interesting in a creative yet charmingly amusing train-wreck way.
He's like an episode of Twin Peaks. Or the X-Files. Weird like that guy in study hall who always wore all black in a Gothy-way, mirrored aviators and a trench-coat, despite it being 90 degrees outside, but would draw really cool pictures of unicorns and phoenix rising out of the flames. That kind of weird-cool.
And despite what either of us do, the universe keeps spinning him into my life every couple of months.
Alas, woes, all the wasted, useless, explosive sexual-tension between us whenever we're together.
"Whatever you're doing these days at the gym (cough), uhm, keep on doing it," he said behind me as I was loading the dryer last time he was here. Then there's all the awkward "Who's that Girl" moments whenever we accidentally brush up against each other.
"Whoops, sorry," he says as he accidentally bumps into my chest while we're shopping at Menard's.
"No, I'm sorry," I say all awkward, my face reddening.
"No, really I'M sorry," he says, now HIS face reddening, until we accidentally bump into each other again. Repeat until Infinity.
But it's doomed to forever friendship-only, because he's terrified of getting his heart broken (the joys of mid-life dating). And because I'm terrified of getting my heart broken, and terrified of any man whom I'm physically attracted to, because that might lead to getting my heart broken.
So, super cool arrangement/friendship, huh? Cool in a diabetic-but-in-love-with-sugar, kind of way.
Sigh.
P.S. my writers' group, High Plains Writers, meets tonight at Indy Ale. Maybe Hipster will be there, the one whom my friend drunkenly brayed at a few weeks ago (go a few posts back). Maybe I can apologize to him if I get my guts up. Stay tuned.
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