Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar March 6, 2013
It’s always a mistake when reading her poems to read too
much into them, especially in thinking any of the most recent ones have
anything to do with me, even when as in one of the most recent ones, the
situation strongly resembles what we might have gone through.
I already pointed out how similar the language is in some of
the recent poems to poems she emailed me a year ago.
My bruised ego, of course, would love to think that this and
other of her most recent poems is a reflection of the past. But to think of it
as anything more than coincidence is a mistake.
This, of course, raises the specter of a much more serious
issue, which my old mythology professor, Dr. Thomas, would find immensely
interesting. He was a Freudian, sloshing through people’s unconscious desires
with hip boots and fishing tackle, determined to find the hidden meaning behind
even the most trivial of things.
Why do we keep getting into the same situations, and why do
we expect a different result?
I keep thinking back about the statement she blurted out in during
one of our last staff meetings together last October when she said, “I don’t
hate men; I love men. It’s just some men I hate.”
In looking at this current crop of poems, you can’t help wondering,
if they are not one in the same, the men she hates hatched out of men she once
loved,” and how she always manages to put herself in a position where love inevitably
leads to hate, a cycle that almost always starts the same way, and comes to the
same conclusion.
If I play a role in any of this, it is as a silent observer,
she most likely knows is watching from afar, maybe even deliberately taunting,
by suggesting in a passive-aggressive way: “see what you could have had,”
although I suspect that’s taking it too far, my reading a series of random things
and making connections that just aren’t valid.
The photo shoot may have been a coincidence (Dr. Thomas is
rolling over in his grave), and the owner of our company simply saw what she
did and wanted me to do it as well without any direct connection between me and
her, despite the fact the shoot took place in the town I cover.
Her establishing a google+ account just after I did may well
be coincidental as well – even though I suspect she keeps tabs on me and what I
post, and since I’m posting things there, she may well have felt the need to
see if I’m posting anything offensive.
It is on Google+ that I started posting my “bad art” after
which she set up her Facebook art page with art that put mine to shame.
I no longer have access to her private Facebook account, which
keeps her private conversations private, but – by blocking me – she loses
access to what I might be posting on my page – a double edge sword.
All of this is speculation, perhaps a bit of my bruised ego making
itself evident again, and as Freud once pointed out, sometimes a cigar is just
a cigar – Dr. Thomas be damned.
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