I can’t sleep. The Viking has troubles. I worry but will leave him to it because that is what he wants. It’s just one of those days I guess.
Went out on a date tonight with … um, the crow (I call him that because he flies a lot, calls only when he’s in town, and there’s some darkness about him that I can’t penetrate). It’s become more of a get together than a date because … we’ll I don’t think there is really anything going on. It’s a non-date. We keep each other company. We discuss mundane things. Nothing really personal or deep. He avoids those questions. He says he doesn’t have answers to them. So I don’t push. I’m not the type to push. But I do like my questions. Even if they don’t have any remedies. They just need a response. He says they were nonsense. Maybe if he tries to answer them, he might learn why they were so pertinent. But I let him be. And he lets me be. This is me, he says. Fine. This is me, I say. We understand each other in that aspect.
So we talk about the weather instead; and if being gay is hereditary or not; and what we did for the holidays; and how he wrecked his car going to my house one night. He asked me why I never tried to call him during the holidays. I said, because he never tried to call me. And we left it at that.
So I guess I’m having a non-relationship with a non-date I’m not sure I’m attracted to. Confusing? Hehehe. Tell me about it.
He has this hi-tech phone that looks like a mini-laptop so he could email reports to work when he's on the go. He made me promise to call him before he dropped me off. What for?, I asked. He said to just call him any time, any where, whenever I want. And I thought again, what for? But I nod anyway. Somehow, having a long quiet argument with this guy is much more arduous than a raucous conversation with anyone else. More questions. But no replies. Not even an I-don't-know.
I really don’t have any clue what I’m doing every time I go out with him. I don’t even understand why I still do. He has become a habit. He said, “What you see is what you get”. Fair enough.
I don’t get answers. I stop asking questions. If I stop asking questions, I tend to be painfully silent. So, I repeat, what for? ... that is the question.