Yes, I went out on a date the other night. By all accounts it was a great date. I, however, am a crazy person. This is not news to the five people who frequent my blog.
This guy was intelligent, charming, interesting, and funny. We have the same taste in movies and music. The conversation flowed well. And all I could do was freak out deep inside my brain.
Why am I so awful? What the hell is wrong with me? Why did I want to flee from this guy five minutes into the date? He did nothing wrong. There was nothing wrong with him.
He seems like a decent person. He didn’t show up to the restaurant with a small dog under his arm. He didn’t bring up why he hates his ex and he let me know in a timely manner that he was running late. He didn’t show me his medical marijuana card nor his prison tattoo. He is gainfully employed and as far as I know doesn’t have an arrest record.
The only logical conclusion is that I am, in fact, insane. Although, I could just be completely stupid.
I mope and complain that I can’t find a good guy. Ok, maybe I shouldn’t elevate this dude to good guy status. He could still turn out to be an asshole. Regardless, I should go out with him again and I probably will if he asks, but I still can’t understand my mood or reaction to him on the date.
On almost all of my other good dates, I was swooning. I couldn’t wait to see the guy again. I couldn’t wait to hear from him. I desperately hoped he would contact me. This time it was like my doppleganger was on the date. She tried to just be in the moment, but never could get past…what? I don’t know.
Maybe I just need to take a real break from the dating scene and get my head straight.