Things here have been all quiet on the western front, mainly because I’ve been out and about a whole lot. I knew there had been some sort of odd turn when I realized that I hadn’t read my LJ list in several days and didn’t particularly miss it. I finally understood that what keeps me spending loads of time on the internet is, often, lonliness.
And I’ve been desperately lonely for a long time.
David and I bowed out of our year-long distance relationship a couple weeks before I went to Switzerland, and even so, we spent a grand time together there as friends. Though the ending of the relationship wasn’t my first choice, I respect and understand his decision. I think you can build a mutually fulfilling relationship over distance, but both people have to want to do that, and have to want to work at it, and the passion for doing that was, alas, one-sided.
So it goes. Nobody you can blame for that.
So you get up. You rebuild.
And in this case, what that means is that I’ve been out a lot doing this bizarre “dating” thing that, apparently, the majority of people do in this country.
“Dating”… ha ha.
When was the last time I actually fucking “dated”? I mean, really?
You know, I’m so bad at “dating.” If somebody makes it past three dates, it’s either cause I’m serious or… well, OK, really, it’s only cause I’m serious. Or bizarrely attracted to them even though I know we’re not good for each other.
I’d like to say that it concerns me that I don’t “get to know” more people, but you know, I get to know a lot of people everyday – at work, on line, at cons – I figure those are as much casual dating experiences as actual dating, only without the uncomfortable “interview-like” atmosphere of a first date, which I appreciate (there is nothing, NOTHING worse than one of those first-date “interviews”). I think my preference is always to be friends first. Then there’s less pressure, and you’re already familiar with some of the more standard quirks by the time you end up making out.
Anyhow, lovely as it’s been to get around Dayton and actually eat out and see shows, I’ve come to realize that DATING IS REALLY EXPENSIVE.
Sure, splitting most expenses while traveling to see your SO is also pretty fucking expensive four times a year, but going out three times a week? Pretty fucking expensive. Expensive: all the time.
Hanging with somebody and laughing ridiculously all the time?
Having somebody around who holds your hand?
Engaging in Shakespearean-like insult wars?
But anyway, dating = good but expensive.
Also, dating = less writing time.
But that’s OK, because the dating is distracting me from the cold hard fact that my book’s on the examining table in two particular places right now, and it’s something I have no interest in dwelling on. Or thinking about. Or, in fact, writing about.
So I’m going to eat some Chipotle, read some books, and go be silly somewhere.