Long distance relationships are hard.
Especially when the other person doesn’t know that he’s in love with you.
Let alone, that you even exist.
So I became a little obsessive this week over the Italian doctor whom I will probably never ever see again for the rest of my life.
I didn’t even know his name so I had to think of a way to figure that out.
I found it on an app for the place we worked at.
From there, it’s all been fairly easy, since it turns out he’s rather successful in his field, especially given his age.
(Yeah, I know that too. He’s 2 years 9 months older than me).
I now have his phone number, email, work address, facebook page address… Along with several pictures of him.
One of which really does him justice.
I also read a paper he wrote about a device he invented.
As I got to know him better, I became more and more aware that we have very little in common.
He likes sailing and mountain biking.
The first, I’m not familiar with.
The second- I am physically incapable of half the time.
(The half that is uphill.)
He seems so free spirited and at the same time, determined.
Quiet, shy, but is that actually arrogance?
He is like 20 leagues above me.
There is no way I could ever translate this into reality.
Not everything I found out is positive.
It turns out he smokes, which is a major turn off, especially considering he is a doctor.
There was an Italian guy at another place I used to work, but he was from my hometown.
He was super cute and always hitting on me, but I never felt that attracted to him because he was a smoker.
Also, I remember one time he promised to make me pasta, and I was really looking forward to it but then he forgot.
I am under the impression that people who smoke lack self-control, good judgment, and let others pressure them into doing things they otherwise wouldn’t do.
So when I compare apples and oranges, my husband is really one in a billion.
If only he were in love with me, he’d be perfect.
But I guess a lot of people aren’t in love with the person they married.
It’s just a minor issue, really.
It’s probably annoying having someone always writing poetry for you or giving you flowers and chocolates and things.
…Or calling you but never actually saying anything on the phone.
Not that I’d know.
It’d be enough just to have someone support my art and music endeavors.
I sang my husband that last song I remixed the words from, “Octopus’s Garden.”
He didn’t take to it.
So this is my story of how I became a stalker.
He’s too good for me so I can technically fantasize all I want, since it’s never gonna happen.