Serendipity by the Truckload

Let it be known that I wouldn't be posting this here if I had the brains to avoid traveling light.  I left my journal at home.  Then again, maybe that's a lie.

So I went out today to take care of some assorted business, and the next to last thing on that list was fresh carrots for Harvey.  The store I had gotten previous batches from didn't have the kind I needed, with the tops still on, so I tried other grocers, to no avail.  I wound up at the Kroger's nearest the theatre and as I'm parking, I'm listening to "Ariel" by The October Project.  Combine any in-depth knowledge of me and the previous post and you see where the serendipity is kicking in.

"My name is Ariel
And i want to be free,
It is your sorrow
That has made a slave of me.
Forgive me,
Forgive me,
But you are all I know.
Forgive me for leaving."

As I exit my truck, who do you suppose I should happen to see approaching the store entrance?  None other than my exgirlfriend, with whom that song is deeply associated, and who is partially responsible for my most recent post and the disintegration mentioned therein.  I tend to call her Maus online.

I wasn't certain it was her, but I had to go in anyway (which she might tend to consider stalking), so I did, and browsed about until I saw her again.  Observing her habits from afar, I became more solidified in my recognition.  She ruminated her cheek and tapped at the counter as she ordered her prescription.  She had the same style of glasses, wore her clothes and carried her purse the same way.  She was disshevelled.  I dug half-heartedly through the discount movie bin before turning away to locate carrots.

Though not entirely certain, my stomach and soul were by now churning.  Maus did not look happy.  Her jaw was set, her nerves obviously on edge-- perhaps because she had seen me, perhaps not.  Either way I'll always wonder.  In any event, I have found myself angered, wounded and worried over the encounter. Is she unwell?  Is she unhappy?  I know she hates me passionately, which is frankly a feeling mostly returned, but that does nothing to alter my concern or the storm of emotions rampaging through me now.  I doubt I would feel any different had we exchanged what surely would have been uncomfortable, bileful words.

Maybe it wasn't actually her but that hardly matters.  I am, after all, the faithful quantum observer.

They didn't even have the right carrots.  We'l just have to do without the greens tonight, I'm afraid.  I won't be entirely myself tonight (or perhaps it's the inverse that's true), so if I am rude or distant, I beg you not to take it personally.

As always,

Starlit and shattered,
Torn but not tattered