Recently I met a talented man whose work I have long admired. I was thrilled to finally meet him, although, admittedly, I had written off our possible encounter long ago with the thought that nothing in L.A. ever develops into anything anyway. He identifies as straight, but I’m not completely sure.
Knowing that I’d have zero time for any correspondence once the work week began, I sent him a couple of emails the next day about topics we had conversed on. I suppose that makes me a brazen, desperate, aggressive hussy, but so be it. It’s such a rarity that I connect with anyone intellectually. He had mentioned getting together the next weekend, but after his responses to my emails, I didn’t hear from him again until Friday night.
Embittered old crone that I am, I read this as a bad sign, but I responded with a nice email just the same. The next morning he invited me to an event, one that would entail several hours of driving and a parking nightmare. I mulled it over for hours. Would all the trouble be worth it? I studied the logistics of fitting it into the weekend I had already planned for myself and getting to the location. Because I’ll be unavailable for the next two weeks, I finally decided it would be worth it to ignore some of the bad signs and go, and I answered in the affirmative.
Later that day he wrote back that his schedule had changed and he couldn’t go after all.
I am beginning to think that the remaining decades of my life are going to continue in this exact same vein.
On a positive note, I’ll be spending the day attending some local get-togethers that will perhaps help me forge more connections in my new location.