Perspectives.

After two years or so, Rose and I finally met up Saturday at Starbucks, her old place of employment. She brought me a plate of cookies and we sat outside, engaging in conversation the best we could given the constant distraction of her adorable but considerably hyperactive child.

After quitting Starbucks, she’d worked for Apple for awhile before being fired for a considerably stupid reason, and it was then that she decided it was the universe’s way of telling her: if there’s any time to chase your dream, its now. So she cashed in her 401K and started her own business. She’s a photographer, and a damned good one.

Her husband works a few days a week at a deli and spends most of his time in their basement. She doesn’t seem at all happy in her marriage; it seems more like an annoyance she’s just come to accept. He didn’t support her starting the photography thing, but thankfully, she didn’t let that stop her. When I asked if, at the very least, he supports her pursuing her passion now, she told me that at least once he expressed some semblance of support. He had taken a look at her photos and paid her a rather backhanded complimentl, essentially confessing that she was better than he had thought she’d be.

Apparently he suffers from depression. Both her children, I also discovered, are also on the autism spectrum. Given they both have different fathers, I assumed this had to come from her side of the family. She mentioned no one else being diagnosed within her family but has said that since she’s learned about her boys, she’s seen aspects of it in herself, and it does make some sense. Though I may have known this in the past and forgotten, I was surprised to hear she suffers from anxiety. She’ll have panic attacks and start ripping off her cloths because she feels constricted, claustrophobic. That’s why she prefers to be naked when she can and wear baggy cloths when that would be socially unacceptable.

I’ve never had the urge to rip off my second skins during the experience, but I know anxiety attacks all to well. Learning we shared this psychological glitch made me feel all the more close to her. I asked her how she dealt with it, and she said she smoked a lot of pot.

Sweet mother of fuck, I thought to her. Why can’t you be single?

Broadly speaking, her attitude towards life appears to be a rather wise one. In her eyes, regret is percieved as a sort of poision. After all, if things had not unfolded in the fashion in which they did, she might not be where she is today — with two children whom she loves dearly, with a life that allows her to profit from the pursuit of her passions. The kind of appreciation for her life that this allows her is inspiring. Everyone would be better off adopting this healthy perspective of hers.

When she texted me the following day to say how good it was to see me, she again touched on the fact that she couldn’t believe I hadn’t had sex with anyone since her. During our meet-up, she had asked me about my love life (which is nonexistent) and blatantly asked me if she had been the last.

I nodded.

In her message, she said she had fond memories of experience. I’m glad, its a relief, as I don’t feel I was at my best during that period despite how very much I was and still am into her.

As do I, I told her. Which is most certainly true.

She responded again right before my shift ended and I was about to drive home, and I don’t text while driving, which was frustrating given the nature of her response. She did the emoji thing: one shocked face and then a long line of laughing faces. I was instantly confused and paranoid and I obsessed and catastrophized about it all the way home.

I finally read her response upon making it to my apartment. She said that this was her typical reaction when she found anyone thought of her in a sexual context.

That kind of threw me for a loop.

She doesn’t know how interesting and awesome she is, nor how beautiful. I guess that’s not an entirely bad thing — it prevents her from having an ego about it, after all — but it also kind of amazed me and saddened me.