Well, I sent the flowers, and she received them. I saw her traipse down the hall towards the lobby, and then return to her office with them. It might as well have been into a dark chasm, never to be heard from again. It’s strange, because a large part of me just wants her to enjoy the flowers, and that would seem to indicate that any sort of gratitude would be unnecessary. Hell, sending them anonymously almost insures that I won’t receive any. Somehow, some part of me was hoping that she would receive the flowers, and magically understand some sort of fantastical hidden truth about the state of the universe. This would lead her to me and my office, where we would delight in our new connection. Or something like that.
But really, it was more similar to the nature of the rest of my life. Something small happens. And then nothing. Lots and lots of nothing. Which I magnify and overanalyze until I’ve driven myself crazy, each gesture somehow a hidden sign or indication of something larger.
But, so far, there has been no communication between her and myself, no indication that she has any idea that I’m to blame for the flowers. Maybe that’s for the best. I have really no idea about how to communicate and play well with others. Social interaction is a language without vowels, which twists my tongue around itself into yoga positions. Thus, I end up with people furrowing their brows and shaking their heads trying to understand my strange, alien speech. In other words, I have no idea if anything I do is even close to appropriate or normal. More likely, it’s just plain creepy.
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