Trashed elbow

Today, I met you when I was going back from work, so I spoke to you, but you didn't notice me at all and had gone.
I miss you. I want to meet and talk with you

Damn, I thought, I don't remember that at all. But nice one anyway.

Then, a few nights later, as I was winging my way home from a hard day of soul-selling in Hirakata...

When going back from work, I pass Yodoyabashi. Could I waite for you?, because I have something to you. If you can't, please say. Then without waiting for you, I'll go back. I'll be waiting in front of bookstore around 21:30.

Mother Hubbard, I thought, she's got my commuting route staked out! She must have been lingering there like a fart in a classroom the other night, and I marched obliviously past. Thank you, long legs and iPod.

Which led me to a bit of a crossroads in my life: change my route home, or tell her to sod off and lose my primary source of blogworthy material.

I told her to sod off.

E-mail sent, I turned my phone off like a true coward. When I got to Yodoyabashi, I put some "suspense" music on the 'Pod, gave the bookshop a wide berth, dashed across Midosuji and set a new record for unlocking one's bike and leaving the scene of the crime.

When I summoned up the courage to turn my phone back on, I found I had a very stoical mail saying that she understood perfectly and wouldn't pester me again. She ought to have bloody well understood as this was about the first time I'd answered any of her mails since returning from England.

Not being entirely callous, I mailed back, simply saying "thank you."

I then got another mail saying she wanted to phone me one last time. I mailed her back saying sod off again.

Then, after about an hour and a half swearing at my phone and trying every combination of four digits imaginable, I finally came up with my security code (it's my brother's birthday, which goes to show what a memory whizz I am.)

Security code entered, Stalker blocked, and I rode the Ferrari phone off into a bright, glorious future, free of late-night textual psychosis and unrequited phone calls. I'm fairly sure our paths will cross again, but for now I can sleep that little bit sounder knowing that I made a big mess and then fled for the hills, disclaiming all responsibility.

Although I'm tempted to send a mail to the other weirdo who gave me her business card and see what I get back. I mean, what harm could it possibly do? Oh, right...