Idiotic Perspicacity

I shouldn’t be writing right now. I shouldn’t. I should grab the dogs, get downstairs as fast as I can to the futon, turn on some show and fall asleep. I should. I shouldn’t go on and on about every single damned thought, feeling, fear that floods my mind. I shouldn’t. I should know better by now. I should know that things are better if I just keep my mouth shut and let things play out. I should. Since when do I do what I know I should do? Maybe tonight will be the night where I change my way. Maybe. It won’t be. Plus, when I started this blog, I swore I would be nothing but honest. There, that is it. I have to write to maintain integrity. I am in no miniscule way overanalyzing, setting things up to fail, or being neurotic. I owe it to my blog, to the process, to the credibility of the craft. See, I must, it is my duty. Well, if I must, then I must…
I will be the first to say that I unintentionally sabotaged my last relationship. You may have heard of it. I think I might have mentioned it a time or two over the past eight months. I did, I sabotaged parts of it, still, he said he thought we were soul mates and didn’t survive my sabotaging—either soul-mates doesn’t mean what I think it means or I am even more powerful at my sabotagation that I thought. Through that process, I learned that I truly do want a relationship. One that will lead to marriage and all those white-picket fence ideals (although I would prefer rod-iron and river rock, white-picket, I don’t think so). So, I know what I want now, truly. One would think that would make things easier. It probably would for most people. It would. However, it appears that it does no such thing for me. After all, I make bunny drug deals in the dead of night, why would normalcy and common sense have any affect upon my reality?
Here is something else I want with a relationship. I want it to go at a slow pace. Not crawling, but not on fast-forward. Stages of romance and courtship. I want to be the one pursued. The one asked out. But not pursued to the point of scaring me off (easy to do). I want to be romanced. But not brought flowers. I’m not a girl. Flowers later on when it is officially a relationship? Fuck yeah, I am all kinds of girl then! I want to date several people. Not in that way. Don’t want to sleep around. Don’t want to lead anyone on or hide things. I simply want to go on dates and truly get to know several people and have the romance progress from there. I don’t want to feel like we have to get married after the first date, but I do want to feel there is a potential for marriage after the first date. I want to feel surrounded, protected, safe. I want to feel masculine, powerful, capable. I want to have hours of unending conversation and endless kissing. I want to have hours of comfortable, blissful silence—but still with the endless kissing. I want the butterflies, sweaty palms, shortness of breath. I want the easy peacefulness, contentment. I want him to be sweet, gentle, kind. I want him to have an edge, a bad boy in there somewhere that behaves himself. I obviously want stars, candlelight, and moon glow at lunchtime. I long for the safety of featherbed while skydiving. I want the mother-fucking cheeseburger to make me loose weight and make my six-pack more defined (I am sure there is a six-pack under there somewhere).
I want it to be deep, meaningful, complicated. I want it to be simple, pure, obvious.
I guess it makes sense in someway that all the things I want contradict. After all, the prospect of possibly dating someone or going on dates with a few someones thrills me, excites me, and makes me all a-twitter. It also terrifies the shit out of me. Completely. The saving grace in all of this? There has never been one thing that has been worth doing (My counseling job, grad school, teaching, blogging, my book, being a better friend and brother) that has not terrified me, some still do. I have learned that if I am not terrified, probably ain’t worth my time.