February 14, 2013
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Snow, intermittent glimpses of spring, rain, ice, work, misery. I’m sorry I haven’t written in over a week. I’ll do a summary.
Basically, I joined an online dating site out of curiosity and I probably shouldn’t have put a picture of my face up. Good lord, I can’t begin to tell you how many creepers have contacted me. I recognize that it’s not that I’m gorgeous or attractive or whatever. It’s the desperation of some men out there that they’ll settle for anyone who looks half decent in their profile picture. I know I look normal, young, and well-adjusted, so these guys think, “What have I got to lose. I’ll just send her a message.” And as long as the message doesn’t say, “Hey, can I be the hello to your kitty tonight?” I can handle it.
But maybe I’m too nice. No, I am too nice. Because now I have guys that won’t leave me alone. I try to be tactful and obvious, but I don’t want to hurt their feelings. Plus, I find one of them very attractive and I like having conversations with another. But is that worth it? I know I don’t want a serious relationship with them and I know I say honesty is the best policy. Feelings always complicate things, whether it’s your own or someone else’s, and I don’t want to string them along. I should be upfront about it and stop this. I should.
These experiences have given me some insight into the guy that I was seeing. Maybe he’s afraid to hurt my feelings or he does genuinely enjoy our conversations, but he’s not interested in a relationship. And he doesn’t know how to tell me because he doesn’t know what I want. So, we’re just awkwardly putting up with each other every other day because neither one of us has the courage to say anything about how we feel. Maybe. Or perhaps he’s just interested in my girly parts and he talks to me just to keep that option open for later.
Every day I see the one I like, though. Working, training. I stalk his Facebook. Like a stalk stalker. A stalking stalk stalker. A creeping creep stalking stalk stalker. I really can’t tell if he looks at me because I’m looking at him or if he’s looking at me out of coincidence or not at all. I spend most of my time on the machines there trying not to look and failing miserably and staring and staring, until his head turns in my direction. Then I immediately avert my gaze to the treadmill or to the elliptical or to someone else in a blue shirt at the gym and try to forget that I care about someone who only exists in my mind. Because that’s really what this is about. A boy that I’ve made up.
So, anyway. Happy Valentine’s Day.
