Three hours until date number two. I’ve shaved, trimmed, put on a face mask (yes, I do that every once in awhile), I’ve dieted all week and doubled my cardio (and I’ve gotten fatter—not kidding), and I’m getting ready to soak in the tub for a bit while playing bejeweled on my new phone—I need to relax and try to breathe. It seems the second date is more nerve-wracking than the first.
I’ve been battling guilt all day. Not huge, but still. I expressed such to a dear friend and he just looked at me when I said I wondered if I should still be waiting. He said, ‘waiting for what, exactly?’ It was a good question, one I couldn’t answer. Waiting for the impossible to happen.
I am going to do my very best to relax and enjoy being in my date’s company tonight and enjoy the dinner he is cooking for me. I am going to do my best to not think about the man who doesn’t want to be with me. Also not think about the publisher that doesn’t want to be with me. I have a date with a cute man with a phenomenal body who is kind and sweet and who wants to cook me dinner. That’s enough.