I’m Gonna Wash That Limerence Outta My Hair

In the process of all the council-related extra work I’ve had to do, most of it while spending time at the council president’s house, has resulted in a sort of exposure therapy curing me of my limerence. I guess once someone is more available and less mysterious, the less interested I become. It seems that I am nothing if not consistent. 

It was a combination of me being tired of being over at her house all the time, just being plain old tired, and also wanting to give her family their space. I am sure they would prefer not to have some strange woman in their house all the time. At least I know I would if I were in their shoes. I absolutely do not enjoy having outsiders inside my home all the damned time. After a while, the newness wears off, and the boundaries go back up. Way up. Now, that may not be the case, but it doesn’t matter. If my gut is telling me that I need to back off and give them some space, I am going to do it. 

Secondly, I needed to give myself some space from her son. I don’t need to be mooning over anyone, and frankly, though it was great fodder to write about, let’s be honest – it’s not going anywhere. I know the fascination is all in my head. 

Thirdly, and possibly lastly, the confirmation that it was all in my head came the other day when he said something last week. I was about to leave, having concluded whatever was on the agenda for that afternoon, when he commented on the security-related council drama of that afternoon. And I asked him what that meant. He then went into detail explaining it to me. Something about him explaining it, and the way he managed to look me in the eye as he said it, the fascination wore off.

Whatever it was, it worked, and I was ready to move on. 

Then I stayed away for other reasons, mostly just having other commitments and our schedules not syncing up. And several days passed with me not going to her house. Finally, today, after some additional neighborhood drama, she asked me to come over to finish up one last project we had planned to start last week but had postponed. I don’t always feel like wearing a dress, but when I do, I feel pretty fancy. All the other times, I wear pretty tomboyish apparel, stuff that fits my general style and aesthetic. Today, I woke up, and I was like, I’m putting on this dress I’ve wanted to wear. Did the likelihood that I might end up at her house factor in? No, because I honestly did not think that with the other things I had to do, there would be time. Not with an impending funeral/viewing service potentially happening at some point. Hence, my wanting to look a little different. 

As it turns out, we never ended up going to the funeral or the viewing. They were scheduled last minute, and everything proceeded so quickly that we opted not to go. Which I was happy for since I had no desire to attend. However, now with an afternoon free, she asked me to run some errands with her. Completely unrelated to any council business. Just me, in my new side gig as a woman’s companion. So we head out. We go to the bank and to the hardware store. Basically, spend the afternoon together. The next thing I know, she asks if I would mind coming over to finish up this project. I was like, sure, why not? 

So that is how I find myself over at her house, dressed up. And her son encounters me. Now I don’t know if he wouldn’t look at me at first because I was in a dress, but he was avoiding looking at me. Whatever. I also noticed that I didn’t get the same feeling I used to when I would see him. I take that as a win because I can’t spend my life being fascinated by every weirdo that crosses my path. 

By the time we get back to her house to work on our projects, he is still there, but I am ambivalent. Other things I noted during this particular visit: the awkward cheek press moment is a thing of the past. Not happening anymore. Either he got the memo that I’d prefer not to be touched unless it is necessary, but he only approaches his mother, which, in my opinion, is for the best.

Especially since when he finds me in his house, I am always seated, working on my laptop at the kitchen table. I’d rather not be bothered; I don’t need to be greeted. I am not so Guatemalan that I am going to have a shit fit if I don’t get formally greeted. I’d prefer not to be acknowledged unless I am in the mood to be perceived. Or in the case of some, in the mood to use the greeting as an act of aggression. 

At least now, I can carry on with my work without worrying that he might approach. I can carry on without wondering what he is doing or if he is thinking about me. You know, all the useless thoughts that were clamoring in my head for attention. In the end, it seems that the solution was overexposure. Forced proximity, in my case, did not work out the way it does in romance. Instead of causing the tension to rise, it slowly eroded the mystery until he was back to being just another guy. When it comes to patterns, I’m nothing if not consistent.