His memory is very different, with many other dates and evenings spent together. He recounted them, some in great detail and I listened trying to remember but still it wasn’t coming back to me. To his credit, some of what he said totally sounded like stuff I would actually do so there is a chance that I’ve just wiped it from my memory. I should have known then that this re-kindled relationship smelled like tequila and regret.
Now reality tells me I’m crazy, I don’t have time for this “more” I’m dreaming about but if I add some liquid merriment and the holiday atmosphere coupled with a little Mariah Carey or Wham to my day and it seems to turn into some sort of intoxicating love potion of delusion.
Dating isn’t my favorite thing to do at all, I don’t enjoy meeting new people, I don’t like making small talk and I certainly don’t like having to talk about myself. I really don’t have anything interesting to talk about, or at least nothing I want to share with someone I just met and if I’m being honest I have very close to zero interest in pretty much everything anyone else has to say.
We all have that one guy who looks great on paper but there’s something missing. No matter how hard you try to create the spark you just feel nothing and it’s frustrating as hell. I met “tea and puzzles” a couple of years ago and right out of the gate he was everything any woman would want, on paper. You know the type that checks all the wish list boxes:
Have I turned into a cold hearted sociopath? I’m pretty sure I took a Facebook quiz once that warned me of that very thing. Is no longer having a single fuck to give a real thing? I am starting to think that I’ve reached my threshold of crap and I may actually be dead inside.