|Something to add to my reading list?|
Please, let this pass.
Two months ago, I started dating a guy. Two guys, actually. Concurrently, not together. First date, first date. Lo and behold, second date, second date! Seconds seem so hard to come by. Times two?! I started to worry. Too much of a good thing.
Third date, third date. It was almost a relief when one of them said he didn’t feel a spark. Almost.
So I was down to one. I’d shaken off that cheating feeling. More dates. I’m guessing seven. (It’s a good sign when I stop counting. I suppose my math has gotten rusty.) But then the dating stopped. He got busy, I got busy. He got sick, I got sick. And four weeks passed. You can’t call it dating when there are no dates. I’m guessing it’s done.
And so what was momentarily an embarrassment of riches is now a barren landscape once more. Square one. It’s back to the dating sites. Keep smiling. Keep hoping. Oh, god. It gets harder each time.
Don’t think about it. Hard not to when the only TV show I watch is “The Bachelor”. I get refueled off watching impossibly beautiful but nonetheless rejected contestants tear up as they part in the rejection limo.
I don’t know what I did wrong!
It seems I’ll never be loved!
I’m ready but no one seems to want me!
Only they usually add in some bleeped-out expletives. These are reality show contestants, after all. I recommend they find Linda Ronstadt’s “When Will I Be Loved” on YouTube and play it ‘til they laugh. Or break their iPhone.
Yes, I’m solo again. No limo. I have my monthly bus pass.
This has got to be at least part of the reason I booked a trip to London. A trip I can’t afford. It’ll take some budget shuffling. I guess I can go another year without furniture in my living room. I do live alone. I seem to get by with a stool.
So, yes, I’m down. This is a normal reaction. As long as it doesn’t stay. If it goes away in a couple of days, I’m good. I’ve got a trip to focus on. What’s the best time of day to see Big Ben?
Please, don’t let it have anything to do with going off my meds a week ago. I want to be in control on my own. I don’t want to take pills, even if there are no apparent side effects. I want to be okay. I want to handle life’s downturns.
The fact that I’ve only had three hours of sleep compounds the foggy, gloomy brain. The night before the first day of the work week is often a miserable bed-tossing-and-turning exercise. And that slice of Baileys Irish Cream cheesecake before bed didn’t help. Too rich despite going with nonfat ingredients. I nursed my belly with a pillow, rotating it regularly to keep the coolness. Still can’t even think of eating this morning. Maybe it’s the start of the flu.
That would be a good thing. It beat the return of my personal dark cloud.
Hands down. And head up.