I could go without underwear.
I don’t like to, but I could.
The same goes for a bra, but then I take no responsiblity if while walking down the street you get knocked through the glass window of a store because my over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder was taking a day off and the goons were out on a stroll. My nips, however, never apologize, for anything.
I could get by without pajamas, and the super rich moisturizer I like to put on my feet in the winter.
I could survive without meat, and milk, and cheese (though the cheese would be the toughest).
I could eat fries without ketchup, I could stiff upper lip having to sit in the middle seat on an airplane. I can carry on without air conditioning and cable and a landline, even a cell phone.
I could manage with candles instead of electricity, assuming I could get my hands on a type writer.
I could endure 2 weeks in the woods.
I can weather the storm. I can take the beating and keep on trucking. But what I struggle with most, what tears at my soul, itches my very being, knaws at my sanity…is a lack of answers. (which probably helps to explain my obsession with science regardless of my career centred in words)
This is particularly problematic given that dating is the soul-sucking-never-ending-black-abyss of never-knowing-anything-with-certainy. When it comes to dating, you have to accept you might never know. Dating is swaddled in uncertainty and you’re likely to be left in the cold without a blanket. And you just have to accept that.
I say you but what I really mean is me. Because dammit I have to learn.
But the answers?!? All the answers. I want them. Need them. I have to find a way to live without them even though every cell in my body is screaming for the truth, a reason, some logic, a glimpse into someone else’s reality…all I really want is an answer, all the answers, forever answers, most answers, because answers, give me the fucking answers!!!
But the truth is, they’re not coming.
And before anyone says something stupid like but the answer IS the lack of answers…go fuck yourself. A lack of answer is not actually an answer. (and it’s that kind of bullshit logic that is at the centre of almost everything that is wrong with our world, so knock it the fuck off and be smarter). Sure, we might be able to draw a conclusion, hint a suggestion, hypothesize and infer but these are not concrete. When I say answers I mean an ACTUAL FUCKING ANSWER.
Nonetheless, there are no answers coming for Come Back Charlie.
Why didn’t he call? Maybe I was a lousy lay.
Why didn’t he text? Maybe he just thought I was tedious or not pretty enough, maybe he didn’t like the sound of my laugh, or my smile.
Why didn’t he seem to want to hang out anymore? Maybe his laughter was bullshit, the sweetness all fake and he was just a dude looking for a quick bang (but not interested in a second).
What had changed? Maybe he didn’t like that I wasn’t magically in love with him or maybe he got busy with work and school.
Why didn’t he like me? Maybe he had a girlfriend or maybe another girl came along that he simply liked better. Or maybe even just a TV show. Truth is, I’ll never know.
Regardless of the fact that he was the one all excited to hang out again after our second date, actually asking so when do I get to see you again?, the lines of communication fell flat. I texted once or twice. He texted once or twice. He never asked me to hang out again. He never made plans. I asked once and when nothing came of it, didn’t ask again. And that was that. Come Back Charlie would be no more.
Am I sad? Not really.
Am I hurt? Maybe a little but still, in all honesty, not really.
Then what is this feeling, this irritation, why do I even give a shit? Well, I’ll tell you. Because there go the fantasties of hot (given that he could improve) stress free sex
with a goddamn giant for the last few weeks before I leave for Montreal. Because there goes the built in booty call to come home to at Christmas. Because dammit, I don’t like when things don’t go my way. I’m a fucking child like that. Disappointment is a bitch. But hey, that’s dating. Right?
Feel the sting, absorb the punch, stand up tall, and keep walking. No More Come Back Charlie. Deuces.
Vancouver Dating Blog: Dating Vancouver a Better Place, One “Something” at a Time
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