A Puppy, Not a Baby (10/07/08 Tuesday)

Woke this morning to the realization that only one work week had passed since tea with Julie, and many times during the day--and even now, at ten p.m.--I counted back the days for verification, and each time came up incredulous. Certainly, the first three days of last week were difficult and long, but the fourth was, if not a triumph in but the most optimistic spin of the word, at least headway--some insight into her darkness and decided candor of my own. Still, it was not a long way to have come over the course of the week.

The distance, this perceived temporal elongation, has, I believe been induced by Julie's thorough displacement of the event. I searched in vain all week for a sign of acknowledgement of something that by the beginning of this week I had allowed her to make me believe was only a distant memory quickly fading into doubt, as confusing as this sentence.

Yet, in a way, there has been an acknowledgement from her of my proclaimed affections--or I'm grasping at straws. I'm hesitant even to acknowledge that myself, to somehow make it true by writing it. So I won't, without substantial corroborating evidence. (I believe that that is at least proof that my heart is in the driver's seat here: Despite the sober caution, I did not allow the head to rationalize a chimera into existence. The Wise Man and the Fool both are spectators at this event.)

In looking for that sign from Julie, patience will not likely win out, but I'm counting on just enough to force the issue, if subtly and only an inch or two. Just as in asking her out, there are two essential elements involved in the success of my next task--knowing what that task is, of course, and knowing when to perform it. I have had the task in mind for most of a week now, since shortly after the failure of "How was your weekend?" and I'm simply waiting for that most opportune of scheduled work moments to implement it: On our next mutual hour on the desk together I will tell her, in effect or verbatim--depending on my nerve--"Julie, for the record, I still find you fascinating." I may even raise my hand and turn my head afterwards as if to both deflect comment from her and defer elaboration from myself; but that gesture is wholly dependent upon my confidence in the strength of my statement. I think I have a lot of capital to bank on, given Julie's virtual detachment, but it might be only just enough. I'm only looking for a rise. I don't want to send her scuttling back across the drawbridge. A smile would do, and would do for quite a while--or, rather, would have to do for quite a while, for I want her to remain aware of my affections without feeling any threat from them. I would like to simply set them on her doorstep without a note and walk away. I'm not asking for more than she can give, nor even more than she thinks she can give. At the very least, I want her to know that I could never do her any kind of harm. At the most.... Well, I'm just not sure about that yet.