Last night I spent time with a guy whom I know is a conspiracy theorist, but he's witty and interesting and he has a really great dog. We made casual plans, and it was never clear if it was a date or not. I didn't have high expectations for the night, as in... I wore a little makeup, but I didn't shave my legs.
I was back home exactly one minute shy of an hour later.
When I was sick my senior year of college, I woke up every morning with my heart pounding, out of breath, panicking. Terrified. I couldn't picture the future. I knew I wanted the Big Girl Job at a newspaper, an apartment of my own, a plan for being with Stephen. I knew what I wanted. I just couldn't imagine how I would, you know, get there.
I don't want to have to convince someone else that all the passion and quirkiness inside me is actually a good thing. I want to know what the future brings. I want to know how this story ends, how this all works out, what my "reasonably happy-ever-after" will be.
Instead... the early morning panic? Is sort of back. I-wanna-go-home-I-wanna-go-home-I wanna-go-home. Sigh... Note to self: don't pursue people you know to be a little mad, no matter how cute his dog (whom he swears has a form of logic all her own) might be. Maybe the CIA has tapped into my hypothalamus and is controlling my moods from a remote location?