Hi.

I want to take ownership of my life. I do! I want to be a proactive person who expresses in equally responsible and adventurous ways. (I’d also like to be thin and rich, but that’s another post…)

Anyway, I really want this. I like the idea.

And yet, I have the definite feeling that I am NOT in charge of things, you know? Thusly, I get confused. When things happen as they do (because, let’s face it, my life is not normal), I don’t know whether to get all upset with myself because I’m an idiot and WHY DO THINGS LIKE THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME and I do everything wrong, that’s why and all those not-very-nice things I can sometimes get caught up in saying to myself, or observe it all from a surrendered space and suppose that the Lord works in ways so mysterious as to border on the bizarre.

I mean, you know I believe the Lord has a plan, I just don’t know how much steering-the-ship I’m meant to be doing for myself. Like, do I sit back and ‘Jesus take the wheel’ my way through life, or do I white-knuckle that wheel myself till my hands cramp up? I just don’t know. I’m looking for balance. I suspect I’ll never really locate it.

Let’s recap the last four months or so of my life. a) dating Irishman, make peace with being not-exactly-happy. b) rock star friend lets it slip he’s into me. c) reevaluate life. d) break up with Irishman. e) receive blast-from-the-past messages from Old Friend. f) commence intense long distance relationship with Old Friend. g) fall totally in love with Old Friend. h) realize Old Friend is totally NOT who he projected himself to be. i) cry myself OUT of love with Old Friend. j) decide to move across the country. k) get in a major funk and COMPLETELY stop cleaning my apartment. l) kind of pack a little. m) meet a guy.

Excuse me, what the fuck was that last bit?

Yeah. I totally just met a guy.

In the interests of full disclosure, that statement is completely untrue. I did not “just” meet him. I met him something like two years ago, and I have seen him several times since and I always noticed him and was interested, and then I would generally remind myself that I had an Irishman and I should probably make up my mind about life because … Stupid. All of it.

Anyway, I saw him again tonight and this time I’m single, and … Next time I’m depressed, will you please remind me to just go ahead and clean my apartment anyway? Please? Because it’s  a little embarrassing to bring a guy home to a total shit hole. Thank God I’m moving and I have actually packed a little so that there are boxes strewn about the place in a manner that lends some credibility to my excuse.

I had a St Paddy’s Day party to go to tonight. I was tempted to bail because I helped a friend move all day and I was crazy exhausted. But then I remembered that not doing things I’ve said I would do is deplorable to me, so I pulled myself together and went. “I don’t have to stay long,” I said to myself in that obnoxious way I have of sometimes saying completely ridiculous things to myself, “But I said I would go, so I’ll go. I have to get up early tomorrow anyway, so I’ll just pop in for a minute and then come back home.” And in a fit of mad idiocy, I believed myself.

To be fair, the friends who were throwing the party are delightful people. This being the case, they have lots of friends. And so I go to their parties, and I usually know something like .07% of the people in attendance, and I stand around looking awkward until I leave. I expected to do the same tonight. Nifty!!

I was on the patio, speaking to the human being I knew, when the aforementioned fella approached and announced he was going to eavesdrop &/or join our conversation. Eventually my friend moved on and Fella and I sat talking to each other. For three or four hours.

And it was good conversation. Now and then another person would wander over and chat with one or the other of us, but we sat and talked to each other all evening.

I have a theory.

If a guy is touchy-feely with people, but never touches you, he likes you. (Or he thinks you are TOTALLY grotesque. Let the reader use discernment.) If, when he does finally touch you in the course of casual conversation, he touches you on the leg, he’s into you.

So I sat talking with Fella, and noticing that while he was inclined to touch other people while he talked to them, he did not touch me. Interesting. Then at length he did, and when he did, he touched my leg.

DUDE. He’s into me. Duly noted.

Then I had the distinct feeling that our hostess was trying to separate us. I don’t know if I was on point with that or not, but it felt that way to me.

We talked a while more, he told me I was pretty a few times, (thank you, thank you.) and then he said, ‘Hey, this is really fun. I really like talking to you and I’m having a great time, but I also kind of want to just head out to the front yard and make out with you.’

Oh. Well, hello. That escalated quickly. Sounds delightful.

To the front yard we went. Good times were had by all, (including the neighbors, I’m sure) (Why do I do these things??) and then he asked where I live. ‘About a mile that way,’ I replied. ‘Are you inviting me over?’ he said.

Subtlety. A valuable quality in a man.

So we came back to my house. My ridiculously untidy house.

Anyway, there was not sex, in case you’re wondering. Why? I can’t say that I know, exactly. I’m dead inside? Partly. I’m still not over being told that I’m too overweight and unsexy to be relationship-worthy? Possible. We met through mutual friends who probably belong to the Irishman more than to me and that is sub-optimal? There’s that. He was a bit drunk and I wasn’t? For sure. I was actually just standing on a street making out with some other guy last night? Yeah, maybe. (Would you look at that? Mayhaps I am related to my brother after all.) (*strains ocular muscle rolling eyes at self in abject disgust… but …  also secretly high fives self*)

I felt bad, because he really seemed to want to take it farther, but I just couldn’t for all the above reasons and some others I never did identify. And then I confessed I am moving across the country in six days.

“That sucks,” he said. “I would totally go out with you.”

Now, as a first order of business, I would like to submit that I do realize that just because he seems nice does not mean that he, in point of fact, is nice. And yet, I rather believe he is probably nice.

So, what is this? Is this a ‘FML’ situation, or an ‘Everything happens for a reason’? I don’t know. But I do know that ‘FML’ is not very much fun. I dislike complaining and being hopeless and unhappy. And ‘Everything happens for a reason’ is hopeful and smiley.

I vastly prefer hopeful and smiley.

But then I also prefer a nice, quiet life where semi-normal things happen and I enjoy myself immensely without being consistently ridiculous.

We don’t always get what we prefer.

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