So, I’ve been reading my “One Month to Live” book. (Sounds remarkably like an old soap I used to love to watch.)

And they said something rather profoundly obvious in that, we all keep shoving our dreams in a box/freezer/back burner/metaphor of choice, and every time we go back to see if they’re still there? They are. They haven’t moved, grown, nurtured, left us or, alas, fulfilled themselves. Go figure.

I say all of this because last week, I talked about running into someone who is better for/with someone else. And yesterday, I have another story about the opposite situation: I ran into someone — or, at least, a doppelganger of someone — and I just wanted to die on the spot because that one wasn’t so easy to give up on.

We were having dinner at Coastal Flats yesterday and, seated at the next table, was someone I swore I know very well. I mean, I was actually offended that he didn’t say hello, which no doubt means that someone in the back of my head clearly has a twin.

I spent dinner staring at him. He was with a girl and honest to God, that’s the perfect diet — I couldn’t eat, breathe, think or even make conversation with my dinner companion. (Sorry, honey, I’m staring at the guy over your shoulder. Cheers!)

And he kept staring back, and I was all sorts of fucked up inside. Was it who I thought it was, or was he wondering who this crazy woman is who has gone all Mennonite on his ass? (I’m told they like to stare.)

I swear, I spent a half-hour convincing myself it wasn’t the person who I put in that proverbial box, on that proverbial shelf, in the back of that proverbial freezer. That he’d never wear a hat during dinner. That he has better taste in bling. That he would never order a bottle of Zinfandel for the table. Oh yeah, I didn’t miss a thing.

OK, the short story is that I thought I put the feelers out there. I felt the feelers be avoided/stomped on/ripped out of their sockets. And I said OK, fine. I get it. Doesn’t take a brick wall falling on me to get the hint. What-evah.

But like I said earlier, sometimes you look in that box and it’s like, whoa, what’s that still doing in there? Didn’t I get busy with my life and move along and put this behind me? Why’s it still there and what do I have to do to get rid of it?

Oh yeah, that’s right. I keep leaving it in there. I guess it’s my spiritual hope chest after all.


I was absolutely rattled. I mean, I went from running into someone last week and being happy for him, and then this week I see someone else (or, at least, someone with whom they were clearly separated at birth) and I just wanted to stab my temple with a salad fork at the thought of someone else being in “my” place.

If I had one month to live, what would I do?

Probably the same thing, just walk away … but not without looking over my shoulder and wondering why this dream, no matter how much I refuse to entertain it (and I oftentimes succeed), can’t seem to go away. …

3 Responses to Doppelganger

  1. Diets » Doppelganger :

    […] wrote an interesting post today on DoppelgangerHere’s a quick excerptHe was with a girl and honest to God, that’s the perfect diet — I couldn’t eat, breathe, think or even make conversation with my dinner… […]

  2. fanfrickingtastic :

    I’ve got lots of pretty little packages wrapped and organized neatly on shelves inside my heart. The things inside are not nearly as pretty as packaging. Sometimes (and your post reminded me of this) one of the packages explode and I’m forced to deal with their little, ugly contents. I never throw the damn boxes away, I just keep shoving them back into the boxes.

    This is crazy, but I was actually thinking of making real packages and shipping them back to their responsible owners. I just couldn’t imagine paying the shipping on all the boxes. It’s like a warehouse of broken dreams in there. Maybe I’ll just torch the whole thing.

    Loved this post. Hate doppelgangers. Hate pretty packages.

  3. Angelo De La Vega :

    Great post… I think everyone, male and female, can sympathize with this one. I had similar feelings the other day by just looking at an ex’s myspace page!

    Quick question though, is ordering Zinfandel really that taboo? I guess I really need to put some time into learning about wines.