The IFC

"Don't say that," he said.
"They Talk." He said.
"You think it, I think it, we all think it. Just don't tell them. It scares them. And they have a wide spread communication network." He said.

I am of course referring to the International Female Conspiracy.

I, like most of my generation, learned everything I know about women by watching sitcoms in the 80's and 90's. Some of the important lessons I've learned include: "While hiding the truth from your beau may result in a hilarious and ultimately forgivable circumstance, it's not really worth the trouble," and "Miscommunication is the comedic root of most problems." While these values not entirely outdated, perhaps my teachings have lead me astray with the belief that women enjoy stability and commitment.

I'm not saying YOU, attractive female reader (mailto:dhoffmann@gmail.com) are afraid of commitment, but a great many of your number are. Your similarly attractive sister, perhaps. How does this effect Spam? Why is he afraid of a lack of committment? I don't really know.

But in a mostly unrelated note, I had a truly excellent time with Octave and her friends last night at her party.

"This could become something really special," I thought.
pause.

That right there is my problem, and the problem of many of my ilk. "Could become." "Will be." "One day." With an eye to the future, I and so many others fail to appreciate what is around us right now. Right now, down the road, there is a girl who put her nose in my ear. I wonder what she's doing, or if she's wondering what I'm doing.
And on top of that, I'm thinking and plotting. Right now. When can I next see her? When can we next talk, and share something? I never stop. I live in the future. I live within plots and plans. One eye on the future, one eye on the past. Watch where I'm going, remember where I've been. I'm doing pretty well for myself, but I don't stop long enough to appreciate what is going on now.

play.
I drove home at 80 miles an hour, and discovered that some of the songs on my depressing playlist weren't actually depressing at all.
When can I see her next?

And this is where tact comes in. This is where I hold my tongue.
"Don't tell her." He said. "It will scare her. They do not like plans and plots." I considered.
"Of course, you cannot stop planning. You cannot stop thinking. We are the brown haired boys. We are the ones who stay up late, worrying about the daylight. Between the hours, between blinks, we are thinking. Of course you cannot turn it off, but you must keep it to yourself." He didn't actually say that in those words, but it's my story, so I say he did.

If a kiss is just a kiss, and an earsniff is just an earsniff, then I'd better just keep on improvising. No expectations. No reasons to be disappointed, and no way to be let down. I need to focus on the present. On enjoying what is going on, without setting goals.

The International Female Conspiracy sends out monthly newsletters with recipes, videogame cheats, and the potential plots of would be suiters. If I made front page, I'm concerned that I'd get a short email stating that we have different priorities right now.

So I'm keeping quiet. I can't actually stop plotting. I can't have no plans, none of us can. But I can shut up. I can fail to mention fantasies of our first kiss. I can withold my enthusiasm for the curves of her body and the smell of her hair. These are things that a romantic heart would dream about. These things do not concern me. I can keep silent on all this mess.

Of course, she reads this blog, so I guess I fucked that up.