I Am One of Your People But the Cars Don't Stop, And It's Been a Long Time Since Before I've Been Touched, Now I'm Getting Touched All the Time

Today was a mixed bag.

Starting with the bad news, the job that I really hoped to get...I did not get. I wasn't surprised by this news because I thought the interview went poorly. My final and most highly-ranked interviewer became confrontational and a little bit shitty with me over my lack of experience, which pissed me off because it's not like I didn't submit a fucking resume. He (or his agent) could have looked at the resume, seen my level of experience, decided it wasn't enough, and saved me a lot of time and wasted hope. Based on my interaction with this ass clown and some information I was able to glean from my other interviewers about the true nature of the job (it was somewhat misrepresented, I think, in the posting), I didn't really want the job anymore anyway, but it was still discouraging not to get it after trying so hard.

Ending with the good news, I talked to Goose this morning. He received the scarf I hand-knit him out of baby alpaca wool (super soft) for his birthday, and he was quite chuffed about it. He said it was beautiful and was overall very gracious and sweet about it. For my part, I am beside myself with happiness to think of his having it. Making something for someone by hand is equivalent to giving him a piece of yourself. As long as he has that scarf, he'll think of me and know how much I cared about him to make it for him. I also enclosed a little birthday note with it to say that I wanted him to have it as a memento of our time together in Peru (and I mentioned he could use it in lieu of my inner thighs to keep his neck warm until we see each other again, which, believe me, is way less graphic than a lot of things he's said to me, so he probably laughed his ass off). Anyway, I hope he treasures it always.

Viva Las Vegas

I woke up this morning still in a great mood after hearing that Goose might be coming to the United States in October after all. Obviously it's not guaranteed, but I have a good feeling. I will, of course, be packing my sluttiest underwear for that trip.

And As the Cathedral Has Spoken, Wishing Well to All Us Sinners, And Where the Sight Grew Silent, 'Til Next Year's Big Human Winner

I was having the shittiest day today. One of my friends told me that based on the salary I was earning, it will take about a year and a half for me to find a new job (that sounds like one of those rules of thumb like "it will take you half the amount of time you were in the relationship to get over it") and I showed up super-early for work only to be unable to get into the room to do the work, thereby wasting thirty minutes when I could have been sleeping. On the walk to the bus station, I felt stabby.

But then...I talked to Goose. I adore that man. Usually, when I'm in a foul mood, only my brother can coax me out of it. I call my brother the Human Prozac, and now I discover that Goose shares his magical powers of emotional alchemy. He had a lot of help from the news that he might (he stresses "might") be coming to the United States in October for some conferences. I am beside myself at the thought and ecstatic over his easy assumption that we'll be seeing each other if he does come. He isn't sure that he'll be able to come because he's currently the "reserve" person, which I guess means he's first on the waiting list. Happily, his boss is having some passport issues that Goose thinks will not be resolved in time for the boss to come, which means Goose could come (thank you, intense United States visa requirements, for your intensity and exclusionary-ness). Goose plans to break his boss's legs to keep him from coming to the United States; I am going to have him placed on a terrorism watch list.

Goose sounds hopeful about coming to the United States. I hope at least some of his excitement (and by "some," I mean "99%") is because of me and not because of the chance to visit Las Vegas.

Human of the Year

I talked to Goose this morning on Skype (just instant messaging -- thank goodness it wasn't video because I looked frightful). It was a lovely way to start the day.

I Got a Desk Full of Papers That Mean Nothing at All, Sometimes I Catch Myself Staring into Space Counting Down the Hours 'Til I Get to See Your Face

I started a little temp job today doing document review for three or four weeks. It's legal drudgery, but I'm hopeful that this will generate some income to replenish the bank account. My bank account is not at rock bottom, but I don't want to wait until it is before I think about taking on some work to funnel more money into it.

It's strange to say, but now that I've been unemployed for almost two months, I'm more reluctant than ever to take a job that doesn't feel right to me. I talked to my mom about it, and she said she hears the same thing from other people who have been laid off. When I found out I was going to lose my job back in April, I was riddled with anxiety and desperate to find any other job. After I actually ended work at the end of June, the worst was over. The unthinkable had happened, and I survived. The world didn't end because I became unemployed. Maybe I even learned a few things with the time I had to think.

I was unhappy at my old job. Most lawyers at big law firms are. The hours are horrendous and unpredictable, the partners are sociopaths (with some notable exceptions) and the clients are unreasonably demanding and create all kinds of unnecessary emergencies due to their own procrastination. The pay is excellent, but after awhile, you fail to be satisfied enough by the paycheck that you are willing to smile about the down sides of the job. Most lawyers at big law firms put their shoulders to the wheel and then complain ceaselessly to anyone who will listen. It's not a great way to live, and I probably could have done it for the rest of my life, but I'm glad that that is no longer an option for me. (This is not to say that I feel like my law firm did me a favor by laying me off. They treated me shabbily, without regard to the sacrifices and contributions I made, and I hope that the office burns to the ground with most of the managing staff still inside.) So, I realized that maybe I could find a job that wouldn't pay as much but also wouldn't make me as miserable.

I also over-identified with my profession. I couldn't see any identity for myself other than "attorney." When I grieved the loss of my job, it wasn't just the loss of a paycheck (though that was obviously an important factor). It was also the loss of my sense of self. Who was I if not an attorney at a prestigious firm? What identity did I have without the cache that came from being employed by a certain place? At first, I didn't know at all. But now I have come to realize that I have a rich, multi-dimensional identity that has nothing at all to do with what I do for a living (though I think that one's profession always does and likely should play some role in defining one's sense of self, there isn't any good reason for me to define myself by a job that I loathe).

When I saw the movie Adaptation in 2002, one of the lines really stuck with me: "You are what you love, not what loves you." I agree with that, and I have come to agree with it even more since being laid off. My job did not love me, and I did not love it. Therefore, I was not my job. Instead, I am a friend, a sister, a daughter, a mommy (to a truculent dog), a volunteer, a traveler and a lot of other things. Most recently, I have become the woman (or a woman) who loves Goose. He doesn't have to love me back (though I think he does) for my love for him to transform me. It's enough that I am sending out that love and positivity, that alone is enough to fundamentally alter me as a person.

Mouse, Trap

Last night, I had to dispose of a live mouse caught in a glue trap under my refrigerator. I have a deep-seated horror of rodents and have spent my adult, urban life working tirelessly to keep them out of my apartment. Unfortunately, based on the fact that I have had mouse problems in my last two apartments, I think they are coming to find the dog food.

When I spotted the glue trap sticking half out from under the fridge with a visible tail caught in it, I freaked the fuck out. I had to call my mom for moral support and advice on what to do with the thing. It was one of those times when I knew what I had to do, but I didn't want to do it. Namely, I had to sweep the mouse into a trash bag and run outside to the curb with it. Barf.

The odd thing was that after the mouse kerfluffle subsided, I realized that I had gone an entire hour and a half or two hours without thinking of Goose. That's probably the longest amount of time I've gone without thinking of him since he and I met. In a way, even though I was in panicky crisis mode dealing with my mammalian enemy, it was a relief. Having something else that demanded my immediate attention provided a respite from all things Goose-related.

I miss him so much. It's hard even for a secret romantic like me to believe that a person could come to mean so much to me after only a little over a week of time together, but it happened. Sometimes, you meet people who reach inside you and fundamentally alter you. Goose is such a person, though he is not the only such person I have encountered in my life. I just wish I knew that he felt the same way about me, or that he was thinking about me. I don't expect him to be thinking about me as much as I think about him, but it would be nice to know that he missed me.

How Soon Is Now?

I miss Goose so much. He hasn't responded yet to the email I sent him on Saturday. While I don't doubt that he will, in time, I hate to wait. I want to talk to him all the time. I want to be with him all the time.

It's hard for me to empathize with Goose's position in our friendship, or whatever term is most appropriate for what is happening between us. For me, things are so obvious. I love him, I believe he loves me, and people who love each other should be together. It's all so linear and logical, like a geometric proof. For him, the equation looks much different.

He's already in a relationship with someone who, I must admit, sounds like a nice, decent woman. It's obvious to me that they are not suited for each other in the long haul (and I don't say this because I want him to end up with me but rather because if all his emotional needs were being met in this relationship, he wouldn't have been enmeshed with me as he was), but it will be one of those break-ups in which no one is a bad person and no one did anything in particular that was hurtful or unforgivable. Even if he accepted that he fell in love with me, it is easy to see that he would hesitate to end his current relationship over it (easy to see, hard to understand).

I just miss him so much. I've never felt like this before. I'm sure that the two of us will see each other again -- we're both young, financially secure passport-holders and we both want to see each other again -- but I want it to be now.

I Believe In You and Now I'll Show It...Baby, You're My Light

I heard back from Goose! He sent me a very sweet email in which he mentioned his hopes for seeing me next year somewhere in the Americas or the United States. He thought he was going to get to come to the United States with his job in February, but he said that isn't looking so good at the moment. Massive disappointment. He also signed the email with "love," which isn't really indicative of anything but still sent my heart into flutters.

I waited most of the day to write him back. I wasn't trying to play games with him by waiting to reply, but I like to give myself time to think over what I want to say in these situations. It's so annoying to hit "send" on an email and then think of something else witty, clever or germane that I wanted to say. In my response email, I suggested that if he can't come to see me for awhile, I could go to see him. I said that I sensed he might be skeptical of that idea (read: that he might not be able to think of a plausible reason that his girlfriend would accept for my presence in his home), but that he should say yes because it's the best idea ever.

Who Are You?

A funny thing happened tonight. I was busy trying not to email Goose when my mom called (you don't know how much I wish that sentence had ended "when Goose called"). I told her that I was trying to hold myself back from emailing him, and she encouraged me to go ahead and do it.

My mom is a Rules girl from way back. She has always counseled me against putting myself out there with men, urging reticence and caution at every turn. I don't know what came over her. When I questioned her about it, she essentially said that if he's ignoring me, then it won't matter and if he isn't, he'll know that I'm interested and was thinking of him. Makes sense. I mean, I'm in love with this guy. If I don't make at least a minimal effort to let him know that I'm thinking of him (while not letting him know the true extent of my feelings yet), I'm at risk of short-changing myself.

She Works Hard for the Money

Still nothing from Goose. He has been absent from Facebook too, so I have no idea what is going on with him. I considered emailing him again, but I figured that if he's trying to ignore me, that will be a disaster, and if he's too busy to email, it will just make him feel more overwhelmed.

In other news, my employment prospects are brightening. My phone screening with the job that I really, really want went well enough that the company invited me in for in-person interviews next week. I believe that will be the last round of interviews before hiring decisions are made, but in the current economic climate, interviews are interminable. I also have another phone screening tomorrow, and a friend of mine thinks there is an opening in his group (he works as in-house counsel) and plans to submit my resume for the job. So, even though I'm preoccupied with Goose and his whereabouts, my employment situation seems to be making some positive progress. Hurray for that. There is no reason to be broken-hearted and unemployed.

The World Goes Around, Around It Goes. You Know What? Life Is But a Cycle

Okay, Franz Wisner, if I meet you in real life, I am going to punch you in the arm hard enough to bruise and then punch you in the bruise. I am almost done reading How The World Makes Love, which I mentioned in my post yesterday. In it, Wisner summarizes lessons on love learned from residents of six continents and intersperses those lessons with the story of his romance with the actress Tracy Middendorf (who I always quite liked and thought should be more famous than she is). Wisner proposed to Middendorf in New Zealand after a six-month courtship and then, despite his fertility issues, promptly knocked her up.

The amazing part, to me, about Middendorf's pregnancy is that Wisner knew before she told him. He had gone off to Botswana for a month as part of his research for the book, and I guess kept having weird dreams, so he asked her on the phone if she was pregnant and she was. I got goosebumps when I read that. I can't remember the last time I got goosebumps when it wasn't temperature-related. Tears flooded my eyes. Happiness for these two people -- these two complete strangers -- overwhelmed me.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Ever since I met Goose, I've turned into this leaky bucket of tears and feelings. Turning lachrymose might be okay if he reciprocated my feelings, but he gives no indication that he does. It sucks. And it leads to all sorts of horrifying scenarios, like reading a book about someone who, after a major romantic disappointment in the form of being left at the altar, eventually finds love and starts a family with a nice person and thinking, "That's what I want." And then having images of being hugely pregnant with Goose's kid, and thinking, "I want that too." No. No. Nonononononono. I need Xanax.

Caught a Lite Sneeze

Awhile back, I read Franz Wisner's book Honeymoon With My Brother. Wisner wrote the book after his fiancee dumped him days before the wedding and he chose to make the best of a bad situation by taking his brother with him on the honeymoon to Costa Rica instead of letting the money spent on the trip go to waste. Wisner and his brother reconnected on the trip and decided to spend a couple of years faffing around the globe while getting paid for it. Needless to say, Wisner is a personal hero of mine (as are all people who manage to get someone else to bankroll their travel addictions).

Recently, it came to my attention that Wisner wrote a second book called How the World Makes Love, which is about Wisner's search for love and the best patterns and practices for it throughout the world. Since love competes with travel in my pantheon of addictions for the title of "most toxic yet compelling," I feel as if he wrote this book especially for me. Thanks, Franz. I owe you one, dude.

I'm only about a third of the way into Wisner's latest book, but I've already learned about an important concept: the Brazilian notion of saudade. Wisner translates saudade as missing someone so much you ache all over. Hearing this reminded me of reading something Tori Amos (bard of my high school years) said about her song Caught a Lite Sneeze. If I remember correctly, she said the song was about a love interest that was easy to get over and that all men think they're the flu.

Goose, for me, is the flu. I miss him so much that I ache all over. Last night, before I started Wisner's new book, I was reading Russell Brand's autobiography, My Booky Wook. Brand (who I love and find hilarious, in case he should ever read this while Googling himself) mentioned a woman named Amanda with whom he fell in love, and he described the feeling as wanting her with him always from the moment they met. When I read that, I burst into tears. I don't know what effect Brand hoped his book would have on readers, but given that he's a comedian, I doubt he wanted to make people cry. It was just that in that sentence describing his feelings about Amanda, I recognized my own feelings about Goose. I want him with me always. I want to be with him always. I want the two of us to cross the literal and metaphorical gulf between us and step forward into the future holding hands. What I want is not getting a lot of consideration in this situation, if Goose's radio silence is anything to go by.

Meanwhile, because we live in a twisted and incomprehensible universe, I got a friend request from The New Guy. I know, right? I haven't spoken to this ass clown in months. I have no desire to speak to him now. I can't imagine what would possess him to attempt to reconnect other than his own bloated ego (that disguises the black hole of his need for approval and constant personal validation). I can't imagine what sort of joke the universe is playing at my expense. A few months ago, I wanted to hear from The New Guy, and he was nowhere to be found. (Well, he was somewhere to be found. He was off fucking some chick he met at his gym. I just didn't know to look for him there.) Now, when I want to hear from Goose and to pretend that The New Guy never existed, I hear from The New Guy. It's events like this that lead otherwise rational, normal people to stick their heads in the oven and pray for the sweet relief of a gaseous death.

No One's Laughing at God When They See the One They Love Hand in Hand With Someone Else and They Hope That They're Mistaken

I love Goose. We know this. I didn't dare to hope that he was also in love with me, but I thought that he cared about me and that I was special to him. I thought that he felt a connection between us. Now, I suspect he is just a run-of-the-mill cad because he appears to have had another version of his relationship with me on the second leg of his travels. Or at least that's what it seems like since there's another girl all up in his Facebook page, commenting on it every time he posts a status update.

Add to that the fact that I haven't heard from him in days, and what you have are some very wounded feelings. I spent every waking minute (and some sleeping minutes) with this man in Peru. We shared. We confided in each other. When we said good-bye at the airport in Cuzco, it was one of the most emotional moments of my life, and I don't think I've ever cried so much about anything as I did about being separated from him. I wish I could teleport myself to where he is right now, just to see him and touch him again. He, apparently, is spending his time trying to remember who exactly I am.

I am sure that he has been tired and busy since he returned from his travels. There was a long plane ride with which to contend, followed by diving straight back into his considerable responsibilities at work. But it takes about five minutes to email someone, and I've never been too busy to email someone to whom I really wanted to talk. If he has time to update his Facebook status, he has time to email me and chooses not to.

Admitting that to myself feels like taking a pick-axe to my heart. There is all the pain and confusion of this situation, and then there are all the ghostly pains of similar relationships past. My mom says I need to examine why I'm attracted to unavailable men, but I contend that it's not unavailable men in general to whom I'm attracted. I'm attracted to a subset of unavailable men: men who are in crap relationships. I have known lots of handsome, funny, smart guys with wives or girlfriends who I identified as seriously good catches, but I was not interested in dating them because they exuded an "off limits" vibe. But if a man is in a relationship that is not fulfilling the matrix of his happiness in some way, he gives off some kind of wobbly signal that I am irresistibly drawn to. Maybe it's some kind of hideous mutation of my desire to help people, but it ends up being the emotional equivalent of diving into the rapids after someone who's drowning. I just get sucked down with them, and nobody ends up happy.

It hurts to love someone and not be loved in return. It also hurts to love someone and expect at least their friendship in return and not to get it. It hurts to put myself out there, since I told Goose that I like him and that I wish he were single, and be passively rebuffed. (Somehow, it seems like there would be more honor in a direct refusal, even though that would not feel good either.) Yet, I don't know that I am the one who ought to change. I'm being emotionally honest, even as I make poor emotional investing decisions, and I'm not sure that losing that honesty benefits anyone. It would be better, I think, to keep the emotional honesty and focus on finding more deserving targets.

I just feel so lost on this one. Normally, my instincts about people are impeccable. For instance, when I first met The New Guy in Egypt, I thought, "Well, this guy is a hump-dick." It was only when I rebelled against that instinct that shit got fucked up because he did indeed reveal himself to be a complete and total hump-dick. But when I met Goose, I felt something click into place. I felt like I found a kindred spirit -- a good friend at the very least, if not my soul mate. How could I be so wrong?

God Can Be Funny at a Cocktail Party When Listening to a Good God-Themed Joke

Do you know how I know that God is a man? Because if God were a woman, we females would not need males to perpetuate the species.

I have a male friend we can call Paprika. Paprika and I have never met in person. We know each other through a blog I used to have about four years ago. We emailed back and forth for awhile, got into a little tiff, and then I didn't hear from him again until about a year ago when he sent me a Facebook friend request. At the time, he told me that he found me because Facebook went through his email address book, found my email and sent me the request. This is bullshit. The email address he had for me was the one associated with the blog, not the one I use on Facebook. I don't even have that old email address anymore. This leads to the inevitable conclusions that: (1) he intentionally set out to find and friend me on Facebook and (2) he lied about it for some reason. Since we reconnected, we've talked almost every day, often multiple times per day, by email. When I say "multiple," I don't mean two or three. I mean upwards of a dozen times per day. I even helped him find his new job.

Now, it may seem strange that I have a close friend of several years acquaintance that I have never met in person. It seems strange to me, at least. I've floated the idea to Paprika several times of getting together in person, either in my city or his, and I invited him to join me on a weekend trip I have planned to Guatemala in November. On each occasion, he has rebuffed me. I told myself that these were obviously the terms on which he could offer his friendship -- we could know each other electronically but that was as far as it could go. It still seems pretty weird to me, but I like Paprika, so I'm willing to work within his parameters.

But now he's pissing me off. He's clearly so jealous of Goose he could spit. I know this primarily because he comments on Goose's physical appearance, calling him "tiny," "small-featured" and "Jewish-looking." (I'm not sure that "Jewish-looking" is an insult, but it didn't sound like a compliment either.) Goose is not a tall man (I estimate his height at about 5'9" or 5'10") but he's not a midget, and I don't think any of his features are particularly small (Goose would want me to note that his junk, in particular, is not small). My point isn't whether what Paprika says is true or not but rather that he is making an elementary play out of the Jealous Person's Playbook (which I wrote): denigrating the physical appearance of one's rival. He also theorized that Goose and I have about a month of awkward emails ahead of us, followed by never talking to one another again and that we should have just had sex on the trip because then we could have chalked it up to a vacation fling. Now, Paprika may be completely right about that. He may, in fact, possess the ability to see the future. I've stated repeatedly here and in my real life that the overwhelming odds have Goose and me never seeing one another again, regardless of how strong our connection felt when we were together. But the issue here is not what will happen between Goose and me but how much Paprika seems to hope for that outcome.

I told Paprika he was jealous and that maybe he should have taken me up on one of my many invitations to get together for a visit. He told me I was funny. Fine. Play that game. I admit that it's unlikely that Goose will be the man who takes me off the market, but it'll be somebody someday (I hope). In the meantime, Paprika needs either to put up or shut up. Assface.

I Never Loved Nobody Fully, Always One Foot on the Ground, and by Protecting my Heart Truly, I Got Lost in the Sounds

What is the secret to a happy life? That is the question that underlies every word I've ever written, and maybe every word ever written by anyone.

Despite having written quite a bit, I am not close to answering this question in anything more than a glib way. Most people seem to agree that love is the secret to a happy life, particularly romantic love, the recognition of the soul's counterpoint in another. The problem is that the process of finding and engaging in romantic love contains immense possibilities for unhappiness.

Take Goose and me for instance (you knew the preamble was just a lead-up to another opportunity to natter on about Goose). Logic insists that I abandon him. I ought to de-friend him on Facebook, delete all photos of him, and pretend I never even met him. That way, he'll never have the chance to break my heart. Complete, unbounded romantic whimsy dictates that I persist in my attachment to him in the hopes that at some point in the undefined future, we'll be together. The logical route protects my heart by providing a very narrow floor and ceiling in which I can live. I'll never be more than a certain amount of hurt, but I'll never experience more than a certain amount of happiness. The romantic whimsy route lays my heart bare.

Life is full of unpredictability and possibility. My mom told me recently, with respect to my landlord's trying to keep parts of my security deposit to which I maintain he is not entitled, that it doesn't pay to worry about things in advance because something will always come up that I couldn't have predicted. If that can happen with bad things like having someone steal money from me, then it stands to reason that it could also happen with good things. I keep looking at this photo of Goose and me that I took by holding the camera at arm's length on the train arriving at Machu Picchu. I'm wearing sunglasses and smiling, with the light spilling over my face. The expression on Goose's face is inscrutable. He's smiling, but there's something in his eyes that, depending on how I look at it, could be almost any emotion. Lately, when I've looked at it, I think he looks like someone who is about to have something taken away from him that he wants very much. It is that expression, or that interpretation of that expression, that makes me believe that life, in one of its infinite and unpredictable possibilities, will bring us back together.

An Addiction to Hands and Feet, There's a Meat Market Down the Street

I thought that when I met the right man for me, everything would fall easily into place. But I've met Goose, who I believe is the right man for me, and nothing has fallen anywhere, easily or otherwise. Am I being naive to think that transitioning from falling in love to being together has to be easy to be valuable? Or am I being naive to think that a man who is currently geographically and romantically committed elsewhere could ever be the one for me or would ever be interested in giving it a try?

The problem is that this situation requires the employment of skills that are not my forte: patience and acceptance. Right now, there isn't a damn thing I can do to move this situation in any direction. If this is a board game, it is not my turn. It is Goose's turn. He has a choice to make, whether he sees it that way or not. He can stick with the relationship he currently has -- the girl seems very nice, he cares about her, and even though I can see from here that it isn't a runner in the long-term, that doesn't necessarily mean he's ready to jettison it yet. He can abandon his relationship be single or take up with some other woman out there in the world. Or, he can do what I most hope for and give things a shot with me. Only he can make this decision -- I can't help him, his current girlfriend can't help him. I don't even know who he might ask about it, if anyone (I'm praying he consults his sister or his best friend since those two are dating and the sister is moving internationally to be with the best friend and they seem like potential allies). But I'm just left to sit here like a bump on a log and wait to see what happens. There really isn't anything I can do to influence the outcome in my favor. It makes me want to put my fist through a wall.

There is a big part of me that believes in fate or destiny or God's plan or whatever you want to call the idea that our lives are mapped out in advance and every event, good or bad, that unfolds is all part of the predetermined path. But believing that I have a destiny isn't the same thing as believing that destiny will be a good one, and there is a part of me right now that is catatonic at the idea that it could be my destiny never to see Goose again. (Thinking that that won't always feel as raw as it does right now doesn't help much. I tried to tell myself after we parted at the airport that what we had in Peru might be all I'd ever get and that I might need to content myself with that, and that just made me even more hysterical.) Further, believing that everything is predetermined gives rise to the idea that all the information about what will happen to me in life is out there, and not being able to access it is torture.

There is a valid argument to be made that love, of whatever duration, is a precious gift. It is true that the week I spent with Goose was more meaningful and fulfilling to me than far longer associations with other people. But it's not enough. I want to see him again, and soon. If we see each other again, maybe I'll discover that our connection isn't what I thought it was or that he's a bad kisser, but I need to know. I can only hope that he feels the same, even though he hasn't really given me any indication that he does.

When You Came In, The Air Went Out

Facebook becomes your enemy when you're enamored of one of your Facebook friends. Seeing him update his status without replying to your most recent Facebook message feels like getting a paper cut on the eye.

It's Been a Long Time Since Before I've Been Touched, Now I'm Getting Touched All the Time

I heard from the guy from the trip today! It was a short email, but it cheered me up. He said he hadn't replied earlier because he had unreliable wi-fi access and was able to receive but not send emails. He told me he is having fun on his current trip but the group is more subdued. (My goal is for him to have fun, but not as much fun as he had with me. Maybe this is not an admirable goal, but I'm a human being and in love with him and I want him to be happy but also miss me.) Anyway, he said he would send me a proper email when he's back home and operating in his normal environment. He also cutely brought up the fact that I didn't have any photos of him in my Facebook photo album of our trip to Peru.

Now, I deliberately chose not to put photos of him in the album. Before we left Peru, he downloaded a bunch of my photos (including all the ones of him in which I was not included) onto his computer and then posted them himself. He said he did that so he could have the kind of high-quality images you can't get when you download people's photos off Facebook, but I assumed that there was also a component of not wanting his girlfriend to say, "Who is this chick and why does she have all these photos posted of you?" But since he brought it up, I posted my favorite photo of the two of us together with a caption that said (in Spanish): "This is my sweetie. I miss him very much." I don't know why he brought up his omission from my photo album, but I like to believe that it's because he wants people to know we hung out and that it's a step on the road to his reevaluating his situation and deciding that I'm what has been missing from his life all along. (I accept that this is a pretty large-sized hope to have.)

In any case, I'm just glad I heard from him. I hope I will again.

My Mind on my Money, My Money on my Mind

Threatening to sue sometimes works. My management company opted to disgorge the $150 of my money that they previously indicated their intention to keep. My initial impulse when they revealed this information was to think that I shouldn't have threatened litigation. Upon further reflection, I decided that it was unlikely that they would have taken my complaints seriously had I not done so. It's a shame that you sometimes have to be ugly to people to get their attention.

If Love Is So Easy Then Why Am I Stuck...I'm Still Lost and Running

I took a nap and had a productive conversation with my mom about the guy from vacation. I feel much better now.

Mom pointed out that this guy has a lot to think about right now, and I have to give him time to sort through his feelings. She also hypothesized that he needs to be given the chance to return home, see his girlfriend, and realize that the relationship feels flat compared to how he feels when he's with me. (Again, she seems like a very nice person. I wish her no ill will. But no matter how nice she is, that doesn't make her his soul mate.) In fairness, it's not like he can be realistically expected to decide instantly that he's going to do a complete clear-out of his life plans and invite me to move where he lives or request a posting to where I live. On the other hand, there is the possibility that he boarded the plane and was like, "Um, okay, next." The evidence doesn't point in that direction, but if that is how he feels, then he's an asshole and I'm best off without him.

If I'm being honest with myself, I believe I will see him again. I think I'll see him again before Christmas. I don't know if that will really happen, but it's my gut feeling. So, deep breaths. Keep hiding the crazy (from him, obviously, not from the blogosphere).

Like a Wheel Within a Wheel, Never Ending, Nor Beginning and Never Spinning Free

I haven't heard anything from the guy from the trip. He has his iPhone, his computer with Wi-Fi access and all my contact information. With all the technology he has with him, he could probably be watching me through my window with satellite images, so if I haven't heard from him, it is because he doesn't care enough to get in touch. He isn't supine on a bed in Bariloche, clutching his iPhone to his chest, listening to Hey There, Delilah with tears streaming down his face missing me. That sounds more like something I would do if: (1) I was in Bariloche, (2) I owned an iPhone and (3) there was a song equivalent to Hey There, Delilah about a man who lives in Sydney instead of about a woman who lives in New York (like myself).

If I had to guess (and I don't, but I will anyway), I would say that his thought process after we walked too far away from each other at the airport to keep holding hands went something like this: "Oh, yeah, [Known Associates] is a great girl, and I had a wonderful time hanging around with her. But when you get right down to it, I have a good thing going on with a girl far closer to home, so I think I'll just forget all about the emotional fling I had on vacation and get back to business as usual." I can't blame him for that. It's certainly the practical view. I mean, if he went home and said to, e.g., his best friend, "Yeah, my holiday was terrific. I had a brilliant time. Oh, and you'll like this part -- I met this amazing girl and I'm going to jettison my current relationship and either invite Holiday Girl to move here to be with me or I'm going to try to get posted to the United States so we can be fully snuggling all the time," his best friend would probably tell him to get a grip.

Speaking of best friends, I hadn't intended to tell anyone about this guy when I returned home. But of course, I have a big mouth, and I felt upset, so I confided in a few people to whom I feel closest. Well, that was fucking stupid. I should have stuck with my original vow of silence. What I'm hearing back from people is exactly what I feared I would hear: (1) He has a girlfriend, (2) He lives on the planet Neptune and (3) You can't be in love with someone you've known for a hot second (and where is that written anyway?). Unhelpful. Talking to most of my friends about this guy just makes me feel like shit because the attitude I get is: "Sigh. You always do this. You go off on vacation, and you meet some guy, and he always lives a billion miles away, and he almost always has a girlfriend. Sigh. This is your pathology. Why are you too pathetic to meet someone who lives within your national borders and whose junk isn't already spoken for? And you're not in love." Yeah, like I wouldn't a million times rather meet someone available to me. Like I'm having such a good time right now. And again, where is it written that you can't fall in love with someone after a short but intense acquaintance? Is there a probationary period before you can fall in love with someone?

I can feel myself not making sense anymore, and I hate it. Just to try to get back to some semblance of rationality, let me say that if this guy managed to forget me as soon as the possibility of imminently touching my junk evaporated, then he is not The One. If he forgot me so quickly, then he is a bit of a shit. I think I'm going to go take a nap.

The Boys and Girls Watch Each Other Eat When They Really Just Want to Watch Each Other Sleep

I'm back from Peru. What a beautiful disaster that was.

Peru is a magnificent country -- really something special. It might be my favorite place that I have ever been, and, while I have not been everywhere, I have been to a sufficient number of places that crowning Peru as a favorite means something. The people are lovely (both emotionally and aesthetically), the climate is widely varied, and the ruins are magnificent.

So, of course, what do I do? The stupidest possible thing you can do in any situation: fall in love. Yeah, good job. I met this guy from my group who is absolutely amazing. In all seriousness, I think he's The One. Yet, simultaneously, I think I might not ever see him again. That's the bitch of it, and I've been crying off and on since I said good-bye to him at the airport until now.

Let's start with the down sides about this gentleman: he has a girlfriend and he lives in a far-off country. Those are two pretty big problems. Neither is insoluble -- the girlfriend could be dispensed with in minutes and, while distance is a bitch, people can relocate. Frankly, to be with him, I'd shove the dog under my arm and move to his city tonight with one carry-on bag. But while neither obstacle is insurmountable, they also can't just be brushed aside either. Even more annoying, his girlfriend sounds like a nice person (and you can imagine how it pains me to say that since I'm so incredibly jealous of her) and he loves her.

Now, let's move on to the up sides. This man has the most amazing heart, the most incandescent soul. I'm embarrassed to be so cheesy, but it's true. He's the funniest, smartest, most genuinely kind-hearted person I have ever met. He makes me laugh so hard, and he's so gentle with people that it makes my heart ache. For instance, we spent most of the trip frolicking around together acting like a couple of mentally ill fifteen-year-olds and repulsing our group members by beaming at each other like the Care Bear Stare (seriously, our guide at the ruins in Pisac asked me if the two of us were married, so I know that our giddiness was obvious even to total strangers). On the last night, we were walking arm in arm to the group farewell dinner, so you can imagine me there with my arm nestled snugly in his elbow, and I took a step out into traffic too quickly. He covered my hand with his and jerked me back out of harm's way, and then he left his hand there for a minute. It was just one of those perfect moments where I felt like Elizabeth Bennet with Mr. Darcy -- just so cared for and cared about. We also both have equally filthy minds (this is where this man and I start to differ from the characters in Pride and Prejudice), so we flirted constantly. I should probably write a formal letter of apology to everyone else in our group who had to watch our bizarre mating rituals. Anyway, he's someone that I knew instantly that I could trust completely. I was completely myself with him, and he adored me for it. How amazing is that?

On the last night of the tour, there was a mix-up with the rooms. I had a room to myself and it had two beds in it. He had a roommate (a really cool guy he did not previously know before the tour), and the hotel gave the two of them a room with one bed in it. So, I invited him to stay in my room because I am an opportunist. It was the last night of the tour, we'd been flirting with each other at an Olympic level, the sexual tension was at an insanity-provoking levels, and yet, he remained loyal to his girlfriend. Now, at one level, that's really fucking annoying. I mean, I'm in the next bed thinking, "This is my last night with this man I've fallen in love with. Will I ever see him again? Don't know, but it doesn't look good. If I don't touch his junk, I'm going to die." But at a far more important level, I'm thinking, "Yeah, he's made the right call for everyone involved in this mess." We talked about it in the morning, and I told him I admired his position of loyalty. I told him that I wish he was single, but that if something happened between us, he would end up hating himself and me for it and never talk to me again, and I would rather be his friend than be nothing or, even worse, be something he was ashamed of. Besides, even if things worked out in the best possible way and he broke up with his girlfriend to start up something with me, I would end up with a guy I already know cheats on his girlfriends. I told him that because my dad cheated on my mom and broke her heart, I could never accept being in a relationship with someone who would do that to someone they profess to care about. He told me that he was very tempted to sleep with me and that he'd really struggled with it, which at least let me know that it wasn't all in my head and that he was interested.

I went with him to the airport even though his flight was quite a bit earlier than mine so we could have a few more hours together. Saying good-bye to him was awful. We held each other for a long time, but he eventually had to board the plane. After that, I completely lost my shit in the airport. I just fell to pieces in a spectacular way. I'm very reserved about expressing the emotion of sadness in a public place or in front of anyone, but I sat in the departure lounge of the airport in Cuzco sobbing uncontrollably and wiping my face with little wadded up pieces of toilet paper from the bathroom. I kept my sunglasses on so that people couldn't see how red and puffy my eyes were, but that was next to useless in terms of dignity retention. After I excreted all the moisture in my body out through my tear ducts, I was catatonic for the next 24 hours until I finally got home. I know that all sounds like self-indulgent histrionics, but I had just said good-bye to someone I believe to be my soul mate, and only God knows when or even if I will see him again. It seemed like as good a thing as any to spur on a complete mental collapse.

I don't know what will happen now. I mean, obviously, I have this fantasy that he'll continue on his vacation (he's in South America for another week), continue thinking about me, and realize that he's as miserable as I am that we're separated. The fantasy goes on to feature him returning home to end things politely but firmly with his girlfriend (I don't want the girl to suffer needlessly, but I do want her to go find some other boyfriend so I can have hers) and then turn up on my doorstep here to announce that he no longer sees any point in living without me and we must, must, must be together. I have a feeling that that is unlikely.

I'm trying to keep in mind that if it's meant to be, it'll work out. And if he really is The One or my soul mate, then he is as miserable as I am to be parted from me, and he will do what he has to do (since the ball is really in his court here) to reunite us. I just miss him so terribly that it feels like my heart is breaking all the time, and then putting itself back together, just so it can break again. I almost wish I never met him so I wouldn't miss him so much now. I mean, come on, God. Are You just tormenting me by bringing me into a situation with someone who is quite plainly my other half and then snatching him away again just to have a go at me? Rawr.