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epitome of incomprehensibility
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Earlier in the month, I met someone at a craft gathering in the Plateau and it turns out, by an odd coincidence, that she lives a block away from me.
You have to go far to meet people close by. "I know hardly anyone in the neighbourhood who's my age," she said. I'm three years older - close enough.
The Saturday before last, we went for a walk, the dog accompanying us, or rather pulling me around. Shiloh was quite chaotic at first, and I feared my temporary lack of control over his motion and mine made me look silly. I also feared that Aimee would think me immature for still living with my parents here while she and her boyfriend have their own place, part of which they've converted into a studio for music lessons. Silly fears; things went well, she was chatty, and we talked about art and music and having to avoid or not avoid exes.
But then a week later, when I texted her three things at once - the first two links to things we talked about, the last just "Have a good [whatever it was...evening, weekend, appendectomy]" - she didn't answer, so I'm left fearing I made some faux pas.
Maybe it wasn't the texting etiquette at all. Maybe she saw me afterwards doing something made me seem unworthy of replying to. Picking up cans on the ground as if I were poor? ...but not on that street; picking my nose? ...from the bathroom window?; putting a semicolon after a question mark; semicolon; semicolon; semicolon.
Waking_with_worries, small worries, even when you tell yourself don't_lose_sleep_over_that.
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