The lesser of two evils

I've just let the Talker know that it's unlikely that there'll be any more dates. And I feel like a complete heel for doing it. Because on the whole, he's a pretty decent guy, it's just there were too many niggling doubts in my mind for me to continue with it. I spent too much of the time during our dates (the parts before alcohol befuddled my mind, anyway) trying to convince myself that he was right for me. I'm not generally into self-delusion, so I've decided that it was best for everyone if I just ended it.

Maybe part of the reason I'm sensing a distinct odour coming from my own behaviour is that I did it by text. At 10pm. In response to a text from him saying that he was feeling really good all day on Saturday after our Friday night date. And I used a slightly more wordy version of "it's not you, it's me". Yep. World-class shit, sitting right here at the keyboard.

But why is that? Sure, my timing sucked, but isn't it better that I told him up front than going the ignore route that I would have taken had he not been such a decent guy? Or that I took the time and trouble to come up with an explanation for my reasoning, that gave him some clarity for why it was happening, and an idea that it wasn't because he was a crap date? Yes, my method of delivery was cowardly and pathetic, but we'd been on three dates. It's not like we were living together or anything. And this was they guy who told me he wasn't looking for anything serious (I may have used that against him in the "we have to talk" text...but it's kind of true). So what did I really owe him? I've been on the receiving end of the fade out after a third date, and it wasn't hurtful. I did consider doing that with this one, but thought it required a more definite response. So for being a responsible adult, I get to feel like crap.

I swear, if dating doesn't get easier, I'm asking my parents to take over and arrange a marriage for me...At least then they'd have to handle the break-up.

The Art of Distraction

I've stuffed my back again. I must be getting old, it's happening more often than it used to. Now, something as simple as sleeping can have pain shooting down the back of my legs and radiating up to my shoulders. I've been using it as an excuse to avoid doing dishes (although interestingly, the number of dishes used seems to have multiplied in inverse proportion with my will to clean them). That little half bend at the sink had me throwing in the towel, before it had wiped a single plate. Tonight, I felt that I ought to bite the bullet and get on with it, before I ran out of tea spoons. Funny how they're always the first things to go.

Of course, my will to do the dishes actually increased when I realised how much study I had waiting for me. Because I've taken the masochistic jump and enrolled in that teacher training course I mentioned way back. Part time, I should be able to teach in three years or less, depending on how soon I get myself to a point where I can quit work and study full time. So in around 5 years I should be standing in front of my own class, then. Pfft. Like it will ever happen...But either way, it inspired me to wash the dishes. And now the spasm that caused in my back has me propped carefully on the couch with a comfy cushion squashed in just the right spot while I recover once again.

Of course, all of this is not just a distraction from the lock on my spine. It's to distract me from the fact that, once again, I'm waiting for a seemingly nice boy to get in touch with me so we can meet up and see if we're as nice in person as we seem via email. I'm sweating on my inbox like I never did over results for study, even though I know the boy - let's call him Ernie - is pulling midnighters at work for a week or two and is therefore unlikely to contact me. Either that, or he's miffed about certain parallels with Ray Martin that I jokingly pointed out. Actually, thinking about it, I probably shouldn't have done that. Just like I shouldn't have started writing about him, because now I'm going to get all paranoid that I've done something stupid, yet again. I need a "Quick! Look over there!" distraction. But when you're in your own head, it's a little hard. So I think I might have to get back into some of the things I've been putting off. I think I have some movement in my back again, and an airer full of clothes is calling me. And my new flatmate (did I mention that I have a flatmate now? All part of the trying to get to a position to fund full time study plan...as an added bonus, she's hardly ever here and when she is, she keeps to her room. The perfect flatmate, in many respects) gets back from a holiday on Thursday, so best not have my underpants on display in the living room. I don't think we know each other well enough for that yet.

Right. Arse off couch. Here we go.

Bugger.

Oh well, was worth a shot.

We've gotta stop meeting like this...

So I'm back in a settled existence, working, seeing friends, blogging, and it only seems fair that it was time one of my other stable occupations kicked in: I'm back on internet dating sites.

Yes, sad but true. And right now, I'm wrestling with levels of frustration that I should be familiar with, but somehow always strike me as something out of the blue when they come.

First there was the guy who messages regularly, seems interested enough, but never quite gets to the next level. He seems happy enough with just chatting via the keyboard, which I can see will get old fast. I've dropped all sorts of subtle hints, from the usual what's going on this weekend, to asking questions about cooking, where he goes, what he gets up to. Nothing shakes him loose. But without fail, every time I log on, he's there with a hello, however much he makes me work for anything more than that.

Then there is the guy who seems to have dropped me since I wouldn't add him as a Facebook friend. We've chatted a couple of times, and he seems nice enough, but I don't want to friend him, and have to explain to Dad, my aunt, my sister-in-law, my cousins, and various others, who it is that I've just added. It gets awkward. And that's without considering howmuch of my life he would have had access to. But he hasn't messaged me since I told him I hardly use Facebook. A little lie, but nothing too serious. His loss.

But I've saved the best for last, because he's such a cliche. The guy who opens with the line "I think you're hot" and doesn't appreciate it when the "compliment" is brushed aside with a flip comment. Apparently, I'm supposed to reply "Thanks, I think you are too". Catch is, I don't think he's hot. He might be interesting, he might be intelligent, but usually, guys like this, they aren't hot. If they were, I doubt they'd be scouring the internet looking for a girlfriend. Luckily, I have a handy blocking button I can push, and he has now been consigned to the interweb dating scrapheap.

Men. Honestly. Even through a keyboard, they still seem to have no clues. Of course, I'm so much better, given that I'm sitting on the other end of the keyboard, just waiting for a message. Because a girl can't be forward, she can't initiate anything. Lord, the hypocrisy.