For few days I forgot to stalk him. Delusional as it may be, I rewarded my ability to refrain from stalking for several days with a nice five-minute stalking session. But remember, I didn’t actually refrain. I actually forgot.

My friends say that if I all together forget to stalk my love then he isn’t my love at all but rather a passerby, immaterial, be neither fish nor fowl. “Maybe I am just buuuuusy!” I say because I am just that: busy. And more busy than the average person because I am taking on a lot of work at work, writing a book and writing things like this relationship column, the Weekly Shop Report and savory city food trends. I am also trying to maintain my personal blog; and if you click on personal blog, a new window will magically transport you there. Plus with all of my shameless self-promotion and all around ego-centric living, there are and will continue to be times when I forget to stalk my love.

Why stalk him at all? Like everything, I have an answer for that. Without a sane amount of stalking, my long days at the computer, words redacted, hours chatting over yoga or bending in half on my mat, the time spent on my head and miles my little legs take me would become redundant, repetitive, superfluous, and dizzying. Plus my mother tells me to reward myself when I meet my little goals along the way. Is it wrong that my favorite reward is to let myself stalk someone? Same mother stalked my stepfather and they have blithe marriage. Blithe I tell you. Other rewards I can think of I actually do not have time for - shopping, pedicure, high tea. Or I must plan in advance with this writing schedule of mine - strange vacations, visits with friends, a leisurely trip to whole foods (although those have been known to turn into stalking events on their own). So stalking is the best compromise. I give myself a time limit so as not to become addicted or out of control. I make sure to remove all emotion from what I find, and I have been mildly successful in doing so.

I used to stalk my Latin “husband” around the neighborhood. One day I asked my deli guy what he knew of said husband, and learned that said husband likes to smoke “Jays” on the side of the building and may or may not have an illegitimate child (his own) and woman living with him. The next day I found someone new to stalk. And then sometimes stalking helps me create stories to write. A reward that pays is the best reward of all.

Stalk on.

Emma Dinzebach

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