Have You Ever?

(I am using the same picture as A Cup of Jo! because it's perfect!)

I follow a blog called A Cup of Jo for its fashion, design and travel tips, and honest and fun discussions on relationships. Girl stuff in general. I visit at least once a week or so. And as is so often the case with many blogs, some of the best action can sometimes be found in the comment section. Love it!

Yesterday, a post titled “Do You Stalk Your Ex Online?” caught my eye because…how could it not??? If I am honest right here and now, the answer to this question is a resounding “Of COURSE I have."

Go ahead and admit it; you have too.

In the old days, stalking was an inconspicuous drive by right before curfew, or a well-timed hang up after (hopefully) hearing his voice on the [GASP] home phone. I'm not talking about the scary kind that should be taken seriously, and which I am not making light of here. But the innocent, love sick sort. Stalking was pretty simple back then. 

Then some smarty pants developers had to ruin it all with the *69 callback function. And a few years later Caller ID. Darn those two telephone functions. They single handedly wiped out our once easy access to a former love bug’s “Hello. Hello. Hello?” [click]. The sound of their voice setting us back weeks. Maybe it was for our own good.

Now we have Google, and the wealth of information, both written and visual, it provides. Depending on how you look at it, it makes stalking both better and worse. Certainly more thorough. If one had the time and energy, some tech savvy to know how to properly dig, I bet you could find out more than you ever expected and maybe wanted. Am I right?

So that brings me to today.

After reading the post and more than a few of the comments, I decided for whom I wanted to stalk. I am not going to tell, but suffice it to say, I had a huge crush on this guy many, Many, MANY years ago. Thirty-one to be exact, and well before I met the man of my dreams. It lasted for quite some time too. We made out an obscene amount of times, but that's all. Wrote about him just once. (Go ahead. I’ll wait.)

Googling him procured most of what I already assumed. He’s still married to the (ugh!) girl he met when we were hanging out and good friends, lives in the same suburb in which he’s always lived, and has the same job. Oh, and a land line, and a Linkedin account (don't worry, I signed out of mine so he doesn't know). With a PICTURE!!! 

I didn’t recognize him. 

I read through his profile. It was him. I searched his face over and over and over looking for anything familar; a glimmer of the guy I remembered. 

I don’t like this stalking business. Not at all. It’s a memory spoiler.

Just Write: Why Am I Not?

Every morning when I wake up, I meditate (horizontally) for several minutes thinking about the same things, and making mostly the same intentions.

Live today better than yesterday (extremely general, I know). Leap on opportunities that allow acts of kindness, but keep them to myself. Be more attentive to my loved ones. Write something. Anything. Just write.

Every morning I walk into town for coffee, assess how I’m feeling, and think about writing. Ideas spring forth most prevalently after the first few sips, but when I get back home I sit here. I sit here just like I am today consumed by meaningless distractions like web surfing through Facebook, Goodreads, my blog roll, etc. completely avoiding where my writing actually takes place, which is the desktop computer or my college ruled notebook both located in the study.

They pile on cumulatively, the days, becoming just another one without productive keystrokes or blue ink on my middle finger; thoughts and words that never make it to paper or the big, white screen.

Every day I see the proof, which is directly left of these exact words (my post activity). Although, I delude everyone including myself by saying I could be writing something bigger, more substantial that doesn’t include words in this space. It is sadly not so.

Like you, I get pulled and distracted into another compartment of my life, which is fine and wonderful (sometimes), but the feeling lingers. Sometimes all day. A dull ache sits on my chest like a pretty substantial paperweight, not disruptive but a constant reminder.

And every day I feel the same sense of disappointment in a “groundhog day” kind of way.  My lack of self-discipline and creativity, je ne sais quoi (not the good kind), haunts me the rest of the day.

Day-after-day I think, “Why am I not doing something that provides me with such intense fulfillment? Am I afraid?”

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My feelings this moment, and written for Just Write.