There are some things I don’t blog about. Super personal stuff, well, shit, I know I need to keep it to myself. There’s one blog that I sent my mom and my sister over a year ago, a draft. They said, “Please don’t post that.”
I never will.
On an unrelated note, I’ve started online dating again. Phone app dating, to be technical. I hate it. I want to meet someone in person. I don’t like the regurgitated bullshit I spit every time I meet someone. But, I feel this hole I need to fill. I haven’t been with a guy since the last guy and I split up with four or so months ago. Were we even dating?
I need a distraction.
I distracted myself too much this weekend. I met up with a guy I ended up liking a bit too much. Pro tip: don’t like a guy you meet on a dating app. You know what I mean by like.
Confusion ensued. Why am I here? Why is he here?
I take myself far too seriously. For the past few months I’ve grown so happy (maybe the happiest, ever) just being with myself and my dog and my couch. I’ve been content out the wazoo. Out the wahoo? I’ve been so happy. But not with a male.
So I thought, obviously, that I could move to the next level of joy with a male presence.
Don’t do it.
It doesn’t always happen like that. There are so many little juicy details I could give y’all if I wrote that kind of stuff, but I’m here to tell you this: listen to yourself.
A few weeks ago I was in a waiting room for a therapist’s office. I was there to audition for some show thing (irrelevant), and the building was multipurpose. But I knew it was a therapist’s office. I know what those feel like.
For weeks I wanted to write about that. I wanted to write about how I’d overcome that waiting room feeling, the one I’ve guarded since I was 16 and first talked to a stranger about my feelings. I don’t need a therapist anymore. I am happy. I am OK.
Instead, I tried to take myself to the next level. Let’s date someone!
When you’re whole, accept that you are whole. Relish it. On your couch, with your dog. Bring someone else into it later. You’re young. You feel enough as is. Feel yourself.
I’m laying on my couch, my sweet dog at my feet. I didn’t spend my weekend here. I don’t regret that. But I would regret not returning. To this life? This life of simple pleasures, this life of knowing what I want? Yes, this is right for me.
For right now.
Wherever you are right now, is perfect.
Someone will change that one day. I promise you (I promise myself), you won’t meet him on your phone.