Waiting

It’s been about 55 hours since the date ended. It went well. I mean extremely well. Conversation flowed like water down a slip-n-slide. As soon as I saw him my breath went shallow. That feeling didn’t leave all night. He walked me in. We kissed and cuddled. It was awesome. I’ve got that sick feeling inside. It seems I can’t thinking about him. Crap.

As soon as the date ended I knew I was hooked. Oh God- why, why, why did I do this to myself? What is about being human that drags us kicking and screaming into a situation boiling over with so much potential pain and devastation? Every break up started with a good date. Every miserable Saturday night thinking about how I could have been funnier/prettier/less overwhelming - they all started with a first good night kiss. Every miserable moment I spent wondering what Rachel in Phoenix had that I didn’t began with a first time holding hands.

In some ways it makes nooo sense! Seriously! Just be single! Just stay by myself – I rarely ever disappoint me! I give myself great birthday and Christmas presents. I always take myself where I want to go on vacation. And sex - well – there are reasonable substitutes available to the single girl. So why do we do this to ourselves?

Because it might be right. Every married girlfriend I have once called me to gush about her good/great/ecstatic first date with the man who eventually became her husband. I guess we traverse the perilous lines – putting our self-esteem on the chopping block, allowing the faint glimmer of hope from a romantic song, opening the fantasies in our mind to play with his last name and our first name – because ultimately, hopefully, maybe this time, it could actually be the right one.

So it’s been 55 hours. Like I said. About 24 away for anyone following the “three day rule” to call back and ask for another date. We sent a couple of text messages about how much fun we had together. My psyche goes back and forth from ecstatic excitement to a deep and unsettling fear – and the recognition, more frightening than any horror movie could ever be, that I like him. Like, I like him a lot.

Terrifying. Thrilling. Horrifying. These are the most exciting moments in a nascent relationship. I’ll let you know what happens, assuming my emotional state survives the next 24 hours without having a complete psychotic break. I think I need to go put on another romantic comedy. Maybe, just maybe he’s the Harry to my Sally.