It’s Sunday morning, and there is that peculiar Sunday morning quietness to the world. Are Sundays morning really different, or do we only imagine them so? For the last hour odd I’ve lain in bed upstairs reading, and finishing my latest book, Rigby sprawled on the covers keeping me company. Outside the breeze blew through the trees. Magpies made their curly noises. I closed the book and reached for my glasses on the bedside table, a sign Rigby knows so well by now that he stood to join me as I got out of bed. Now I’m downstairs and the same breeze blows. I can hear children playing next door. Behind me the cat crunches on the breakfast he left for later. A milky sun shines down.
I feel like I have a busy day ahead of me, though it’s purely relative. I’m having lunch or brunch with JV. I’ve given my espresso machine to the Cheese’s since I can’t use it and theirs has broken, and need to drop off some parts for it. Then I’m inspecting a property in Glen Iris I can’t afford to move into.
Doubtless I’ll get a message, and possibly a call from the spy. I go with the flow, but I’m not in the same place she is. I think in part that’s because I’m more experienced at these things. She’s flush with the newness of it, the excitement and possibility. She keeps telling me how much we have in common, don’t you think? As if it counts for something – which it does, but only something. She wants to take me with her on a weekend to Hobart. Maybe, but probably not.
I’m not nearly as keen as she is, mainly, I think, because I don’t really see the future as she does. I wonder if that’s a kind of reaction to her enthusiasm, if perhaps she was more demure in her expectations I might in fact meet her halfway? There’s some truth in that, and a tip for budding lovers out there. There’s only so much space in a relationship, and if you fill most of it it leaves little space for the other. Draw back a tad and perhaps the other will come to you. As it is I’ve given her too much space, or she’s taken it, and in the absence of me actually doing much she imagines and extrapolates and fantasises. I know it because I’ve been there myself, and see the signs now. It’s not real.
It makes me remember what an independent person I am too. Not just by habit, but by nature. I’ve never had any problem going my own way, or even being just by myself. I feel crowded when things happen too quickly, see myself cramped in a system of somebody else’s making. It’s something I have to deal with, but the best way to go about it is slowly and with complete understanding. Or else if I’m the one who falls.
Funny, I noticed this morning on the one and only dating site I have a profile on that a man has ‘liked’ me. I wondered if it was some oversight. I get looked at by men occasionally for whatever reason, but never ‘liked’ before. It was no mistake though, the person in question has listed he’s after ‘men who like men’ and so I imagine he just lobbed a hail Mary, speculative ‘like’ into the internet dating ether.
I’m definitely in the category of ‘men who like women’, and only that. I’m friendly to gay people, but… He looks like a nice enough bloke, bearded, a little plump, jovial, and likes to have a beer according to what he says about himself, as well as cuddles. I wish him well, but no cuddles from me.
I should defongerate. Lunch it is, and at some point I should shower and dress, Sunday morning or not.