eight

Tuesday, 16-Mar

The night before last, I forced myself out of this old house of mine. Fancy that, the shut-in emerges—kidding. I’ve mentioned the local murder. (And, remember the “niggle” I also mentioned? I still haven’t figured that out.) At the pub where the mourners gathered, I made myself comfortable near the fireplace, glass of wine in hand, and people-watched. Too vigilant, you say? Ay, but I’m glad I went. I saw a few people I know. I felt safe enough.

As an aside, I met a man named Nathan. He escaped the crowd and dropped into the empty armchair next to mine with a soul-unburdening sigh. We chatted a bit, as one does. He, reluctant; me, socially desperate.

Fact: PatientZ was your garden-variety antisocial personality, well-hidden beneath his charm.

Fact: Nathan is so far on the other end of the spectrum that I’d label him neurotic.

Fact: I’m a sucker for a nice, transparent neurotic.

At first glance, Nathan appears to be the calm type, but upon closer inspection you can tell his stillness isn’t relaxed at all. Oh no. He’s a prey animal on alert for predators. I empathized. I suppose that’s why I asked to visit his studio when he mentioned his pottery. The poor man didn’t know what to do with my request. At best, I’d say he acquiesced. We exchanged phone numbers.

It occurs to me that it may be harder to decipher a neurotic’s truth than a charming nutter’s. Not that I’m about to pursue anything with him, but the notion has to come up, correct? I must overcome my tendency to fall for the most awful man in the vicinity, because falling for PatientZ is why I’m here on the page “processing,” after all.

Unfortunately, since Nathan intrigues me, he must be the most awful man in the vicinity. Is this a fact? No, I suppose not, but it feels like a fact. (I’m sure we’ll dig into this in our next session.)