Last night, after some delay, I had a second date with Sunday-night Man.
He was again a good date. He had the patience to hang in a loud room with a girl who had no speaking voice. (Yes. Lost on Sunday night. Still gone.) He requested the bartender make me a lemon and brandy hot toddy to soothe my throat, then insisted I have a refill. He recommended dinner choices, then paid for them. He kissed me standing outside my car. He kissed me more sitting inside my car. He was a good kisser.
This all helped me forget for a few hours that, despite multiple exhortations to the contrary, C-2 and I never did see each other this weekend. After 2 days of radio silence, he wrote yesterday to say he had been swamped, was sick, and was sorry. Today, ostensibly, he leaves town for a long time.
This is good, I think. Maybe I'll get on with my life after 9 months of unreliable dithering and frustration. Like how, sometimes, I need to bury the Reeses Pieces at the bottom of the trash to keep from eating the entire bag. Out of reach means out of mind.
(One would hope.)
Summer Is An All-Out Sprint
3 hours ago