1. a groove or furrow
2. a settled and monotonous routine that is hard to escape
3. a state or period of heightened sexual arousal and activity
happens almost every year. What I affectionately refer to
as Rutting Season.
the Spring, my heart swells and aches in a fashion that I
find hard to explain. The gnawing seems unbearable. Every
fibre of my being feels alive and fully charged, wishing and
aching for something that simply cannot be. Rationally I am
astounded at my mental state, and often wonder "what
the hell is this all about?"
but emotionally there is no question... just inconsolable
ungratifiable indefinable ache. Since I left high school,
the object of my obsession varies, but there always seems
to be something to fill the void.
do think it began in high school, or perhaps in the last year
of grade school, with the approaching end of every school
year. It would mean two months I would not see the object
of my obsession. Two long months where the high-school routine
of anxiety and fear would be shelved, and the world of possibilities
would open up.
horrible freedom. Freedom without the daily stimulus of the
object of my obsession.
knew that with every approaching summer, I was one summer
closer to never seeing him again. How it could be? How it
could happen that this one person with whom I was so enamoured
would never share more than one ridiculous Grade 8 dance with
me? How could this world ever really end and the door close
on the possibility, no matter how infinitesimally slim?
can remember the last time I saw him. I was attending university.
He had stayed back for an extra year of high school, as he
had realized in physics class that he wanted to study electronics
the last two years of high school I'd gotten enough nerve
to try to talk to him casually. I'd dialed down the open stalker
level to 9 (from 472). And he seemed to be polite about conversation
in the final year.
my final year, I took physics with him. I took it only to
be in the same class as him. I'd had a chance to see the books
he needed, and then figured out what classes he was taking
that I might take. I re-arranged my classes in my final year
of high school so I would see him as much as possible.
was in our physics class that we had a speaker, and he seemed
to have the sudden revelation of what he wanted to do for
a living. It would require him to spend another year at high
school, and so he did.
tried to latch onto this. I tried to rationalize that my leaving
high school would not be the tragedy I thought it might be.
I was "obviously" completely misguided in ever having
such an attraction to him. Five and a half years of sleepless
nights and pointless affection, aching for something I would
never be able to have. How could I possibly moon for someone
who could make such a clearly irresponsible choice... to stay
at school another, a sixth, year?
a fool. He's a flake. He simply could not mean as much to
me as every fibre in my being had led me to believe.
I knew that it was impossible for me to rationally stay another
year. I was sorely tempted, but I instead left for university.
Just as I dated others as I carried this torch, I knew I had
to get on with my life.
it was the fall, and they were distributing the yearbooks
back at the old high school. I decided to go back to get my
yearbook and to possibly glimpse him one more time. Perhaps
I would even ask him to sign my yearbook.
Four years I'd asked him to, and four years he'd turned me
picked up my yearbook, and was walking down the hall when
I saw him. I knew I needed to talk to him. This was it. This
was the closest I would ever have to forever. I could not
pass the opportunity up.
I walked right up to him, virtually jumped in his path and
said the only words that seemed appropriate.
I've come back to haunt you."
was then quickly followed by a lame question of did he know
where a mutual acquaintance was, and a thanks, good to see
you. And that was my goodbye to the safe, constant, reliable,
and only once rivaled object of my affection during rutting
took me another year to learn that the fun of rutting season
is to revel in the ache. To wallow in the pain of emotions
that are never to be requited. To fool oneself into thinking
they may be requited is dangerous, for once rutting season
ends, the desire often collapses, with disastrous results
for all involved.
season is fleeting. It is like a dog chasing cars. The fun
is in the wanting, not the having. And a shiny new jag to
some poor whippet is completely useless.