Going on

Well, the guy and his dogs who've been living in my barn are moving on at the end of the week. Not a moment too soon, actually... now that it's been warm and I've been working on things, the fact that the dogs bark at me every damn time I turn around has been getting increasingly annoying. You can do practically anything else, but don't bark at me in my own place, guys... you're the transients here. Avery and I had a few words about that last night... his complaint was, "you've treated me like shit since I've been here."

I thought about that a while, and realized that no, I had not. What I had done was not make him part of my life. Maybe he expected that, but when I offered the space for him and his dogs, I had absolutely no intention of being friends, or even having much to do with him. That wasn't what I intended and still don't intend. Maybe he expected that, but no, I don't want him in that part of my life. He's got all the earmarks (and shown evidence of being one) of the people I wouldn't want in my life: flaky, dithery, unconcerned with time or efficiency, prone to pseudo-psychology and pseudo-science, vague. I just don't have friends like that because I don't want them. I've known plenty of people like that in my life and learned they and I just don't get along.

So no, I didn't treat Avery like "shit," I didn't treat him like anything at all. I basically left him alone and expected him to do the same for me. No matter now... he's moving on.

Things are over with Sarah, as well. These two events happened within an hour of each other. The repairing-of-the-brakes didn't go all that well -- well, technically, it went just fine, and she now has tons of brake in the front, it's just that she seemed ditzier than usual and I didn't react very well -- and afterward, we talked for a long time, then went down to the diner down the valley to get something to eat.

I went into that situation not entirely sure if I wanted to continue seeing her, and by the later part of dinner, I was pretty much convinced to go ahead and stick it out and see what good could be made of it, when Sarah said something that completely changed everything. Basically, she insisted that I had been emailing someone off Match.com after I'd said I hadn't been, and that by some coincidence some co-worker of hers said that her sister-in-law or someone was the person I'd been emailing.

Now, when I've done something I shouldn't, generally I remember. I absolutely could not remember emailing anyone. Sarah went on to say that she had copies of the correspondence and "knew for a fact" it was me. She apparently had been sitting on this knowledge for weeks (which made it all the stranger that she thought it was me, since weeks ago, I'd been very happy with Sarah and wouldn't have had any reason to go off looking for someone else), and said so.

I got up and left.

One thing I absolutely cannot abide, cannot forgive, and cannot forget, is someone who "saves things up." You know the people: they don't say anything at the time some issue comes up, they save it up until they can spring it on you later for maximum effect. I absolutely can't stand this, because I figure if something's important, say something about it in real time when I (a) can remember it and (b) am prepared to deal with it. Saving it for a rainy day, saving it for when you can score points with it or whatever, is a sure way to make me vanish, because often, I will have forgotten the situation in question and I'll be left unable to say or do a damn thing except stand there, accused and defenseless. My usual instinct is to leave the situation and not return.

And so I did. No more words, no nothing. I walked the two and a half miles home in the dark up Valley Road. I got home, had my little interaction with Avery, and, sweaty from the humidity outside, went upstairs to check my email, to make sure I actually hadn't written to someone on Match as Sarah had described. I hadn't. I double-checked.

Then Sarah herself appeared in my bedroom doorway, wanting to "talk."

Talk? Talk about what? You think I lied to you, you won't tell me who I supposedly wrote to behind your back. I think you're a scorekeeper, and that thread of connection in my head that I had spent the early part of dinner strengthening had broken the moment you dropped the bomb on me.

It broke. And it can't be restrung.

It's be one thing if I'd had months or years invested in a very serious relationship with this woman, but no, we've known each other six or eight weeks and while she's nice, she really never was my "forever" lady. And for her to do something like this... well... forget it.

I asked her quite directly to leave my house, and she eventually did.

So now, I guess I can go and actually consider writing to someone, but I probably won't for a while. Right now, I have absolutely no trust in women. Remember how I said that I really thought maybe Sarah was one of those women who really didn't have those dark, suspicious habits?

I really believed that. I don't now.