Well, thirteen followers, I know myself better than I think I know myself. I was so “sure” Órækja and I would see each other again, but I think we all know that when I “guess I’ll be seeing him again” was how I described it, I definitely wasn’t going to be seeing him again. I could choose to believe that he lost interest in me, but the truth is that neither of us really tried very hard to keep in touch. I think he gave it a solid 6 worth of effort and I probably gave it a 3. I honestly think there has to be some level of physical attraction for this kind of thing to work. Plus, he wasn’t too thrilled with my “only looking to date” goal and I wasn’t too thrilled with his “looking for a better half” goal.
That said, I did a thing I don’t typically do. I had a flash of a moment (no reference to this week’s The Flash episode intended) in which I thought about a guy who tried to date me back in like March. I turned him down because I really really really wasn’t into dating, which is pretty obvious based on the fact that I only just started two weeks ago. I can’t Viking-name him yet because I need to spend some time with him to get to know him so I can answer the questions on the Viking name-generator thing, but I assure you, I will. So anyway, I texted the dude. I said hey, I said how’s it going, I said we should catch up. He assumed I might be packing up to head back to wherever-I’m-from, which I was actually kind of impressed by his recalling. So now we have a date. I mean, we didn’t call it that. I try to avoid that word if I can (think of every time I write it here as an exercise in exposure therapy for me). But we definitely have a day and an activity planned. In town, which I kind of love because fuck the entire idea of driving to Boston to date someone.
So here’s my plea, Universe. Let this dude not suck. I’m already overlooking something that has essentially been a deal breaker for me from the inception of the thought about thinking about even considering dating (yes, that was intentionally extra-extra-meta), but look at me taking some Ciara-sized risks. Let him be relatively emotionally stable. Let him have slightly more than half a brain. Let him NOT be voting for Drumpf. Let him have at least 2-3 solid communication skills. Let him not be allergic to cats. And please, PLEASE, let him be independent. I’m hoping this former deal-breaker of a thing has helped him get to that point, but you never know.
More to come, I imagine.