It took me 'round ten minutes to get to 'Create Post.' Since then, I've been gushing to how I'm hearing Sugar Hiccup playing live on the radio, skimmed through two blogs, and harboring a dark thought.

But these are not the reasons why I logged on in the middle of reading the papers and stretching Mrs Dalloway. Speaking of Mrs Dalloway, durga thinks I'm crazy for reading Lola Virginia at a time when her vacillation would just further my infected mind but she was worth the rereading. No, wait, she was worth the rereading and me staying the course despite mindless chatter, despite an aching back, despite the weak americano. (Why are all the americanos coming my way not worth it?) For a moment, I truly felt unworthy as a writer and as a woman. Odd, the first reading of the first thirty pages took me five days; the rereading breezed through two and a half hours.

But these are not the reasons why I logged on the middle of reading the papers and stretching Mrs Dalloway.

In between speculating whether Raymond Gutierrez is indeed gay or not and coaxing my stomach to do its occasional acid reflux, a thought caught me off-guard, as all thoughts do in their menacing way. (Stay the course, you duck, stay the course.) What was it? Oh yes, that thus far, I was told off two times. Now in some worlds, that would count as being dumped. No, I wasn't courting anyone and no, I wasn't in a romantic relationship.

Now, if we're going through all the technical shit, nobody said anything, nobody did anything for the other to conclude things. But yes, the body does have its wonderful way of saying things the mouth in trepidation just couldn't.

So, as I was saying, I was told off two times. Told off in the sense that either I was giving not-so-subtle hints or I did some professing (not an easy thing to do, as the nameless and the countless should know). To be fair, the two tellers (thus making me the tellee) were gracious, polite and subtle. They were very gentle and kind. But they were certainly clear and firm. And just as well since I suppose they know that I do not care for digressions and cushioned thunderbolts. (Ah, the perils of being a girl born in the wrong culture.)

The first time I was told off, it was the ideal setting for such events. It was a Saturday, the night was already an adolescent and the alcohol was working its magic. (Unfortunately, South Border wasn't.) We were on the sofa after everybody else mysteriously disappeared to the pool tables and the counters. (This happened two years ago so the details and how it came to the telling-off are already lost.) He was speculating on what kind of men should end up with which person (the girls in our group). Like this girl should be with a laid-back person and how that girl should be someone who could straighten her out. And so little ol' me coyly asked who I should end up with?

He looked at me for what felt to be 200 million years (translated into real time as 2 minutes) and carefully said something to the effect that there are a lot of compartments that form me and the person for me should be able to fill as many of the compartments as he could.

Here comes the wrecking ball.

He then added that in other words, I needed someone like him but, unlike him, is sane.

Then he excused himself to go to the bathroom.

Of course, me always having this five-second satellite lag of a comprehension about feelings and attraction, I was still at the 'compartments' part of his speech, so when it finally arrived at the 'sane' part, my eyes just wanted to pop out and dive in a bowl of ice.

I think there was a crying interlude much, much later, with him offering his shoulder. I claim to not remember the details here.

Current status of relationship: no contact, but just as well since he's really a hermit (who lives in the same town as I do). It would be interesting to have a chat with him when we're forty or something. And no, I will not do those if-we're-not-with-anyone-until-forty-tayo-na-ha.

Which brings me to Teller # 2. The second time I was told off - wait, I wasn't really told off. Now this one really took some time filtering since I had to scrounge, dig up, sort through the mess of gunk and mood swings to really understand what happened months and months earlier. Of course at the time I understood fully well what he wanted to say (or not say, as it happened). To Teller # 2's credit, he was calm. To Teller # 2's discredit, even # 1 agreed (when I was bitching to him about what happened) that that the way it was done soared off his jerk meter. Considering that it's you, I was told. Well, that never made things easier, I shot back.

To begin with, I was not intending to tell him anything, though I was very sure he has been suspecting something for some time. It was out of a fit of jealousy (not to mention some prodding from an overexcited friend) to tell him how I felt. Pro: at least it was out there and I would feel better afterwards. Con: did I say at least it was out there?

There was an exchange of messages that was beginning to turn ugly, to which I decided to just screw it and go to his house. At an ungodly hour. (Now you can imagine the adrenaline I was on. If this adrenaline could only be bottled, hmm.) Of course he was pissed off. Went through mindless talk because god knows I haven't done this before. Before I knew it, I managed to blurt out - in a middle of a totally unrelated subject matter - I love you, okay?

Of course me, being bananaducky, it was a grand mess.

What did he say, you ask?

Aherm: he said that I should listen carefully to what he is about to say. That his priorities revolve around family and work.

I could hear myself falling off my seat. Of course I didn't. But it sure felt like it.

Now why did I tell my two tales of (fill-in-the-blank)? Is it to demonstrate the already-hackneyed same-old-story-of-love-and-glory? Is this my Valentine's post? (Of course not.)

In between speculating whether Raymond Gutierrez is gay or not and coaxing my stomach to do its occasional acid reflux, a thought hit me so hard it produced the most inexpressible smile. It occured to me that, in hindsight (and that's the best thing about hindsight, it knocks at your door when the dust has settled and the battle scars have healed), the two did me a favor. That, really, the two cared a lot about me. That, actually, I wouldn't have wanted to have anything to do with them romantically, after all. That, unfortunately, they have nothing to give me. That, all this time, all is well with the world. That, all this time, I should give them credit where credit is due.

So, thank you. Really.

That, after all, you did think 'considering it's you.'