I have a date tomorrow. And I just don’t fucking care. I’m so over it. Of course there’s the part of me that hopes. Hopes he’ll be really amazing, that we’ll have an amazing connection, that my life will turn into a fucking Lifetime Movie. Yeah. Right.
We matched. He wrote. I’ve ceased being the first to write except in cases of extreme interest, which happens like one in every hundred guys maybe. (See my post “Portland is too small” to learn more about that.) So, apparently I’ve matched with this guy on other sites, which I don’t remember at all. But I’m flattered that he remembers me. How fucking sad is that?
I won’t show up looking like I’m sucking on a lemon. I’ll make an effort. But I can’t get excited. I can’t deal with hope. It’s exhausting. Maybe I’ve used all mine up. Maybe my karma is so bad that I’m destined to have every hope and dream I ever have be crushed and die unfulfilled. Or maybe that’s what I’ve sown in this life and I’m just reaping what I deserve, which is pretty much nothing.
Yesterday I felt so great. Today I’m just ok. But I made myself go out and take a walk. And I just feel so much shame and failure when I see all the happy couples out in the sunshine, enjoying life together. I wish I wasn’t so envious. I didn’t always feel so fucking bitter. But the older I get and the less likely it becomes that I’ll ever have anything even close to a loving partner the harder it gets. I have a friend who moved away and is getting married. I’m so happy for her. But every post I see about it makes me wonder “Why am I so fucking unlovable?”
I try to be present. But my present is so small. So lonely. And it’s so small and lonely that I can’t imagine how any kind of future will grow from it. Again I feel dead on the vine.
Yesterday was nice while it lasted. Today I’m looking forward to summer being over. The pressure to be shiny and happy and surrounded by friends and lovers on epic adventures makes me wish for an aneurysm.