I tell myself on a regular basis that maybe I should try seeing her less often. But who could stick to that?! Every day I give in, and then I solemnly promise myself: tomorrow, you’re going to stay away, just for once, and when tomorrow comes, I still always find some incontrovertible reason, and before I know it, there I am beside her. Maybe, the night before, she said, “You’re coming over tomorrow, right?” — Who could stay away?!? Or she’s given me some errand to run and I feel like I just have to follow up with her in person; or it’s SUCH a nice day, I bike up to Pickton, and once I’m there, it’s only half an hour to her place! — It’s like I enter her field of gravity, and bam! there I am. My grandma used to tell this fairy tale about Magnet Mountain; the ships that sailed too close to it had all their metal torn off them, the nails flew off towards the mountain, and the poor sailors were crushed as the planks all collapsed around them.