I had a pretty great time Friday night, despite what the snarky title might lead you to believe. She called me out on my headcold when it decided to develop a cough during the first drink. Couldn’t have helped. In any case, the snowstorm cometh, and we said goodbye too early as the temperature crossed the threshold allowing accumulation. It only took a few minutes to get crazy dangerous to be driving (my car), and part of me was relieved just to arrive home in one piece.
I rewound and replayed, like I do. She didn’t give me a lot of eye contact. Maybe she was nervous. She didn’t smile, not even a nervous smile. Maybe that’s not how she is when she’s nervous. She kept saying my separation was pretty recent. It is pretty recent. Maybe you shouldn’t wear the scarf your wife made you on first dates. Women do tend to ask who made it. Maybe she’s just not into me. Yeah, well, maybe, so?
I was crushing hard before we even went out, so there’s no stopping it now. Some of us fall easily, and sometimes gravity must run its full course.
I let the snow keep me in for 24hrs and I tried to sleep off the headcold and the puppy-love. Now, I’m at J__ Coffee, trudged here from the apartment. Got the heart going, and set off a short, productive, and painful coughing fit. Feel better than I have in days. The scientific method is useless here, as this is also the first coffee I’ve had in over a day.
She’s really great as, I’ve noticed, are the other two (three?) tall brunettes I’ve fallen for recently. I should consider this last experience, at worst, huge progress, though I shouldn’t risk jinxing it. Everyone puts “New Friends” in their profile, but maybe we aren’t willing to put in the time investment with just anyone.
You went through with it. You bought her an orchid and then you gave it to her. Slow the fuck down, jackass.
I find the internal dialog’s advice easy to ignore, but it does raise some compelling issues.
Falling out of love with K__ happened so slowly, and hurt so differently than I expected it to. My recklessness now — an acrobat without a net, a convertible with bald tires on snow at top speed, an American over 50 without health insurance. It’s as though I must plow these four pumping super-charged chambers headlong into a brick wall so love lost can feel like I expected it to.