I was wrong. She didn’t take the photo she posted at her father’s house, but at her best friend’s house in Haverton, Pennsylvania, and the dog pictured, is most likely his.
This ties into the poem she posted to him – the analysis of which I’ll probably do tomorrow, since it says a lot about her curtain condition.
She apparently used her iPad to check my webpage late last night or early this morning, looking over a few pages I posted about modern feminism. This came via a google search rather than the typical entry via my blog page link.
This is not the first time I’ve caught her searching out my content, even though I’ve posted very little (consciously) about her since the summer. Her IP address shows up so rarely, I assumed she had moved on from thinking about me. In recent months, I have caught her on my pages only one other time. Perhaps she thought it was safe for her to look at my pages from Haverton, suggesting that perhaps over these months she had been on my pages more frequently than I’ve been able to detect, using other IP addresses or a VPN to hide her IP address.
The feminist essays may have intrigued her enough for her to get careless, leaving a signature I can detect. (It is possible that her visits are as a rare as they seem and that she is ignorant of the ability of people to track IP addresses.
This is disturbing for several years, not least, is the question whether or not her angry poem was written with me in mind.
And as the poem hinted at, she might be worried that I am posting something about her, and may routinely do searches to make certain I’m not.
This suggests that she is still wary or concerned about me.
The other issue involves her retreating to her sanctuary in her best friend’s home. She always seeks him out when she is in the midst of a crisis – an idea supported by her most recent poem about him. Her romantic entanglement along with the Virgin Mayor’s legal troubles no doubt keep her up at night.
The fact that she needs to check my website even when she is seeking comfort of her friend suggests I’m still in the mix when I assumed I was well out of her life.
The romantic disaster seems to take precedent over her political woes, and could prompt her to finally make another leap – maybe take another exotic vacation somewhere such as she did after she broke it off with her chef in New York.
She might seek out some other place to go, although I’m told she’s up for a hefty raise at her current job, and so this might tempt her to remain, even at the risk of having her Virgin Mayor convicted.
I don’t know why she feels the need to look over her shoulder to see if I’m behind her. I’m perfectly happy to observer her from afar, to read her poetry and listen to her music.
Again, I’m perplexed by her angry poem and whom it might be aimed at, her recent lover, her stalker from Brooklyn or possibly (and I dread the idea of it) me.
At one time, very early in all this (but not for long), I assumed I was more important to her than I actually was. Now, I think the exact opposite, and like the idea that I’m not on her emotional radar.
If I am, why would I be more important (in a negative way) to her than any of the other people who have come and gone from her life?
I hope to god all of this is merely coincidence – the checking on my website and the poem that has haunting echoes of the past.
I love her poems, her music, her talent; I don’t love her.
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