The thing with me is, I talk to myself, a lot. What I don’t do though, is talk to myself quietly. I talk to myself like I am actually having a conversation with someone. Even scarier than that is, I often reply.
I have two-way conversations with myself.
I mostly talk to myself when I am out of my comfort zone. This means that usually I will also be swearing, as this is what I do when I feel out of sorts.
Take last Sunday for example, I found myself wandering around town looking for Mr Ivy’s apartment. No, not in a stalker way, this was pre-arranged.
I always knew I would see him again, despite my previous rant because I am a what if kind of person. What if I chose not to see him again, I would always wonder about what could or might have been. Not knowing is worse surely than knowing, even if it means we meet and we don’t meet again, which is a distinct possibility.
Neither one of us knows how this will turn out but I had to find out, one way or the other.
He is one of only three guys that I would have been happy to see again and on that basis alone it was a no brainer.
The conversation leading up to us meeting again was tense, on my part at least. I try to hard. I know that but I still can’t stop myself from doing it. I try to be too cool and come across as at best aloof and at worse bloody sarcastic. Then when I get all serious I get too serious. I am learning to properly hate text messages.
In my normal daily life as a Mother, Daughter, Sister and at work amongst my colleagues and even when I am out with friends, I can have an intelligent conversation, I can talk about many things and while I may not be particularly knowledgable about any given subject I will certainly have an opinion to share. However, put in me in front of someone I am trying to impress and I become a blithering idiot, add to that trying to converse by text message and I might as well set fire to myself and have done with it.
I need to learn to be myself because actually I’m alright as people go, I just need to tell my brain that.
Anyway, I made it through the texting debacle and somehow managed to secure a meet/date, whatever you want to call it. We were having dinner at Mr Ivy’s apartment. Yes, he is going to cook me dinner. I can’t remember the last time a man cooked me dinner, or if one even has? Not in a romantic way anyway. Is now a good time to mention what a fantastically picky eater I am?
On the day my anxiety got the better of me. You knew that right?
Caught in the car park talking to my phone, rather loudly, while I check again what the front of his apartment block looks like on Google. I was heard questioning Google about the accuracy of the photo. Is this really what the apartment block looks like? I do not want to be wandering around looking like I don’t know where I am going. I know I don’t know where I am going but I don’t want to look like I don’t know. Where is the entrance at the front, on the side, I need more information? Oh my God, what is wrong with me? Nothing you are fine come on, get a grip, you can do this. No I can’t. Yes, you can. Move yourself.
“Are you lost love?” says a guy suddenly from behind, at which I squeal loudly, try not to throw my phone across the car park and say No, very sheepishly, just slightly deranged.
It is 400 degrees outside and I am melting.
There is not a single part of my body that is not perspiring and it is not due to heat alone. Another one of the hottest days of the year so far and not entirely conducive to dating. An hour ago I was in the shower and now I look like I have just had another one, I can feel my hair curling at my temples and my dress is stuck to my back in what I can only imagine is very unattractive damp patch.
I leave the car park, before I am arrested and as I look up there is his apartment block, as described, very accurately I might add, by Google. Did I need Google? Yes of course I did. How the hell did we ever manage without it? It is my comfort blanket when I can’t have Vodka. It makes me feel safe. I know it’s weird.
He buzzes me in, while I deliberate if I need to take the lift or not? Knowing full well that I will make the wrong decision, I start climbing the stairs. I am not keen on lifts. Confined spaces and all that. On autopilot I casually start a conversation with myself about the fact that when I get to his apartment I will probably not be able to breathe, I will be even more sweaty than I already am and FFS how many bloody floors is it exactly?
Finally. I stand for a moment trying to maintain a regular breathing pattern before ringing what I assumed was the door bell. Waiting patiently for what seemed like forever I was contemplating ringing the bell again. Does the bell work? Should I knock? Jesus Christ I am not built for this shit. He must surely be wondering where the hell I am, I rang the buzzer at least half an hour ago. He must be asking himself if I have changed my mind?
I try both. I knock and ring the bell and swear, quietly. Where is he?
The door opens just as I am about to ring the bell again. “Hi” he says “you are early and that is a light switch” he points to the bell. I can only imagine my expression as I try to contain the ‘Oh fuck off, is it?‘ and the ‘early? how can I be early, I have been treading the stairwell for the last twenty minutes.’ I just smile, probably inanely and he pulls me inside.
I am hot, nervous and a little on edge. He is bloody gorgeous (much nicer than I remember), looks cool as a cucumber and seems very relaxed. This is going to go swimmingly!
It did. It went very well, in my opinion. I had a lovely time and so I think, did he. I left and once home I messaged to thank him for a lovely evening to which he replied with pretty much the same back and that was that. Literally.
When this post goes live I will be with Mr Ivy on our third excursion together (how we got here is a whole other story) but suffice to say we did.
There is no blueprint for the future, no format, nothing to tell you the right way or the wrong way to go about things. In my head I need a diagram, I need a blueprint that will give me clear instruction on how to handle things. What to say in a certain situation. What to do should I become my clumsy self and do something really awkward or embarrassing because if I had instruction I could handle it. Couldn’t I?
Clearly I am not as together as I make out, forty bloody six and I am tangled up, in a almost lunatic kind of way. I want to date but I can’t handle dating. It is too hard. In all honesty it will be a miracle if this (whatever this is), gets out the traps.