Since my last entry, here's a total breakdown of what's happened with my finding of "online relationships." (Because, you know, "online dating" has a bit of a negative connotation to it, and how embarrassing would it be to be honest about what's going on? Goodness, people our age don't date anymore! We're far too mature and magnificent to do such a common, crass, and awkward dance. Pfft.)
A grand total of:
* Eight new matches. (Six of these between Friday and Sunday)
* One new request for communication. (Done. And then I closed the match. Why? Not compelling. It's been a little over a month and I've decided that I'm not going to communicate with anyone who doesn't pop up on the radar for any reason.)
* Communications from Suitor B. (Not Suitor A or C. Difficult to study when the subjects do not act.)
* No butterflies - one guy has potential. Why? Because he's attractive and he likes to hike. The info from his profile, however, is firmly in the "meh" category. So yes, enjoying hiking = on radar.
* No finding my "one true love."
The train pulled out of our original station - known as "Complacence" - and we have reached our first stop on this scenic route to Bitterness: Dispassion.
Because, at this point, it's considerably easier to be dispassionate and frankly not give a hoot than to get upset. Hell, I'm not even energetic enough about the whole process to warrant ambivalence anymore. Ambivalence was akin to those "one grain elevator, a church, and a gas station" towns you pass along the highway - blink and you miss it. (sidenote... do you see what I did there? Now you know what the "lay of the land" is where I live.)
Next stop?
The bustling metropolis of Acerbity, where even the most devout narcissist will toss off the cloak of self-esteem and begin to doubt themself.
Fun for the whole family! Bring your kids, bring your friends, bring your spouse...
... wait, you don't have a spouse.
That's why you're here.
Right.
I'm not Catholic, so I won't be welcome in a convent, but perhaps I could join a monastery...? Shave my head instead of my legs - and let's be honest about that, ladies, it's getting to be winter and it's been awhile since there was even a ripple of a possibility of a reason for shaving - and I'd never have to decide what to wear in the morning, ever again.
Plus, I think orange is really my colour.
A grand total of:
* Eight new matches. (Six of these between Friday and Sunday)
* One new request for communication. (Done. And then I closed the match. Why? Not compelling. It's been a little over a month and I've decided that I'm not going to communicate with anyone who doesn't pop up on the radar for any reason.)
* Communications from Suitor B. (Not Suitor A or C. Difficult to study when the subjects do not act.)
* No butterflies - one guy has potential. Why? Because he's attractive and he likes to hike. The info from his profile, however, is firmly in the "meh" category. So yes, enjoying hiking = on radar.
* No finding my "one true love."
The train pulled out of our original station - known as "Complacence" - and we have reached our first stop on this scenic route to Bitterness: Dispassion.
Because, at this point, it's considerably easier to be dispassionate and frankly not give a hoot than to get upset. Hell, I'm not even energetic enough about the whole process to warrant ambivalence anymore. Ambivalence was akin to those "one grain elevator, a church, and a gas station" towns you pass along the highway - blink and you miss it. (sidenote... do you see what I did there? Now you know what the "lay of the land" is where I live.)
Next stop?
The bustling metropolis of Acerbity, where even the most devout narcissist will toss off the cloak of self-esteem and begin to doubt themself.
Fun for the whole family! Bring your kids, bring your friends, bring your spouse...
... wait, you don't have a spouse.
That's why you're here.
Right.
I'm not Catholic, so I won't be welcome in a convent, but perhaps I could join a monastery...? Shave my head instead of my legs - and let's be honest about that, ladies, it's getting to be winter and it's been awhile since there was even a ripple of a possibility of a reason for shaving - and I'd never have to decide what to wear in the morning, ever again.
Plus, I think orange is really my colour.
