Implosion
The Crush (1)
The Crush (2)
The Crush (3)
The Woolies
Encourage Saint X
Disparage Saint X
D A T E L I N E U P D A T E : The Crush - Part 3
Beginning Tuesday, June 26
And still I wait. It's much harder now. I'm completely invested. Rule #1 went out the window sometime last Friday. I'm convinced Sassy is THE perfect person for me. I believe she's hooked by what I wrote, loves my sense of humor and my quirky shifts between ridiculous and thoughtful. SHE'S charmed. But I try to stay cool, cognizant that, again, she needs a proper amount of time to reply. I took almost four days for god's sake. Still, I can't say I'm not a little disappointed when Monday went by without an immediate hit.
Tuesday passes. Then Wednesday - not without a very welcome diversion of a little swing dancing (but that's a story for later). Thursday goes by. The weekend is coming up and I've run through my backlog of prospective e-mail dates. Sassy is now IT. (No pressure.) Despite a growing concern that I must have somehow swallowed a hypodermic needle in my sleep, I remain hopeful my vision of the perfect weekend will prevail.
I boot up my computer Friday morning. One week after her initial acknowledgement. (Friday morning has been a good time for us in the past.) I log into my Hotmail account:
I'm not pleased. Everything I was dreading is suddenly at the surface. My Zen balance falters. Topping it off, there is still no real work to distract me from this nasty, rising tide of reality. The morning passes with No New Messages and the weekend inches closer. I try arranging a back-up plan with my friend Joy for drinks to ensure I'm not going to be sitting alone on THIS of all Fridays, the day it was all going to come together.
Mid-afternoon: "No New Message." My back-up bails.
It's 4 o'clock on Friday. I'm able to check online to see if she's been using the system in the past few days . . . maybe determine if she's on vacation or something. Nope, she's around. Apparently looking for someone other than me. I have been officially rejected. (Put the needle down on Woolies song #4 now.)
I'm not angry with her. How could I be? I take full blame for setting myself up. But I now have three separate and unfilled weekend evenings sitting before me.
Friday night is, in a word, excruciating. So this is what it's like to feel again, huh?
* * * * *
Saturday, June 30
I had the foresight to plan an excursion of shopping for new glasses. (Which, of course, I was set to cancel when it became necessary because of my success with Sassy. There is no bigger goddam idiot than me!) Fate must be shining, however, because this expense-laden splurge leads to a chance get-together with a group of friends for a late dinner. Blessed diversion! Furthermore, when we move on to a bar, we are descended upon by a trio of harpies, grinding their way through the tiny space we're been dancing in. I don't get home until well past 1 a.m. Nice and tired!
Sunday is long. But incrementally better. (I also find a surprising number of interesting new profiles online.) I start formulating a plan for a Tuesday-Wednesday escape to Tahoe for the 4th of July. By Monday, I've decided.
By Tuesday afternoon I'm kayaking on the clear deep mountain waters, and by Wednesday I've been camping, had my ass kicked by an amazing trail, which was somehow free of the buzz of tourists. I drive home at break-neck speed with a brain relieved of much of it's messy load. I'm catching a second wind.
Resilient . . . if nothing else.
* * * * *
Epilogue
In the week or so since my dose of reality, I've been corresponding with a few more Women of the Internet. With astonishingly more back-and-forth than with Sassy. The rules of this dating world will definitely take some getting used to.
* * * * *
Next: Good AdviceAnd still I wait. It's much harder now. I'm completely invested. Rule #1 went out the window sometime last Friday. I'm convinced Sassy is THE perfect person for me. I believe she's hooked by what I wrote, loves my sense of humor and my quirky shifts between ridiculous and thoughtful. SHE'S charmed. But I try to stay cool, cognizant that, again, she needs a proper amount of time to reply. I took almost four days for god's sake. Still, I can't say I'm not a little disappointed when Monday went by without an immediate hit.
Tuesday passes. Then Wednesday - not without a very welcome diversion of a little swing dancing (but that's a story for later). Thursday goes by. The weekend is coming up and I've run through my backlog of prospective e-mail dates. Sassy is now IT. (No pressure.) Despite a growing concern that I must have somehow swallowed a hypodermic needle in my sleep, I remain hopeful my vision of the perfect weekend will prevail.
I boot up my computer Friday morning. One week after her initial acknowledgement. (Friday morning has been a good time for us in the past.) I log into my Hotmail account:
"No New Messages"
I'm not pleased. Everything I was dreading is suddenly at the surface. My Zen balance falters. Topping it off, there is still no real work to distract me from this nasty, rising tide of reality. The morning passes with No New Messages and the weekend inches closer. I try arranging a back-up plan with my friend Joy for drinks to ensure I'm not going to be sitting alone on THIS of all Fridays, the day it was all going to come together.
Mid-afternoon: "No New Message." My back-up bails.
It's 4 o'clock on Friday. I'm able to check online to see if she's been using the system in the past few days . . . maybe determine if she's on vacation or something. Nope, she's around. Apparently looking for someone other than me. I have been officially rejected. (Put the needle down on Woolies song #4 now.)
I'm not angry with her. How could I be? I take full blame for setting myself up. But I now have three separate and unfilled weekend evenings sitting before me.
Friday night is, in a word, excruciating. So this is what it's like to feel again, huh?
Saturday, June 30
I had the foresight to plan an excursion of shopping for new glasses. (Which, of course, I was set to cancel when it became necessary because of my success with Sassy. There is no bigger goddam idiot than me!) Fate must be shining, however, because this expense-laden splurge leads to a chance get-together with a group of friends for a late dinner. Blessed diversion! Furthermore, when we move on to a bar, we are descended upon by a trio of harpies, grinding their way through the tiny space we're been dancing in. I don't get home until well past 1 a.m. Nice and tired!
Sunday is long. But incrementally better. (I also find a surprising number of interesting new profiles online.) I start formulating a plan for a Tuesday-Wednesday escape to Tahoe for the 4th of July. By Monday, I've decided.
By Tuesday afternoon I'm kayaking on the clear deep mountain waters, and by Wednesday I've been camping, had my ass kicked by an amazing trail, which was somehow free of the buzz of tourists. I drive home at break-neck speed with a brain relieved of much of it's messy load. I'm catching a second wind.
Resilient . . . if nothing else.
Epilogue
In the week or so since my dose of reality, I've been corresponding with a few more Women of the Internet. With astonishingly more back-and-forth than with Sassy. The rules of this dating world will definitely take some getting used to.