Just when I thought I was out...

I am rather pissed off.

The Godfather Part III is not a great movie. It's spoiled by a lot of things, one of which is Al Pacino's hammy acting but there is one scene that seems relevant to me at the moment. It's the scene in the kitchen where Michael Corleone, suffering from diabetes but not realising it yet, and wearing a very un-Godfather (but quite fetching) burgundy cardigan, roars "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!"

In between all the shenanigans with C, I dated - for a over year or so - a woman called E. Timing was not kind to us; when she wanted me, I was ambivalent towards her (actually, I was a bit of an arse). By the time I'd sorted myself out and realised that I wanted her, I'd alienated her to such a degree that she didn't want me. So it goes. It was the end of that relationship and the (drama queen alert) mini breakdown I had as a result that really made up my mind to leave the country.

Anyway, there was a period at the start of the years where I would plaintively hold up my little heart and E (who, to be fair, had her reasons and her own journey) would pick it up and then put it down, pick it up and put it down until, after a series of increasing fractious messages, made it clear in no uncertain terms that I shouldn't involve her in whatever fantasy I had going in my head about our "relationship." I apologised (and meant it) and got on with the business of getting on with it.

I would think of E, often and with regret: regret at the way I had behaved, regret at the squandering of a chance for a great relationship, that sort of thing. But, I reasoned, she'd made it abundantly clear how she felt (or didn't feel) and the fact that she was no longer in touch meant that she didn't want to be in touch. Leave it alone, I thought. Learn your lessons and move on. So it goes. I was, I thought, over all that. It was a missed opportunity but one of perhaps many. Maybe it was my last opportunity, maybe it was my best opportunity - whatever, it was over and I was over it.

Guess who emailed me this morning? Guess who has spent all day parsing a 42 word email, trying to work out what it means, if it means anything, and what I should do. I am not, it would seem, as over E as I had thought.

And so, as I sit here in yet another airport (I like airports - did I mention?) I am pissed off. Not with her but with myself, as usual, for being upset and getting my hopes up and being uncertain and a whole bunch of other things. And I'm wondering: what do I do now?