I'm tired of dating.
I'm tired of holding back my enthusiasm and my needs until I'm sure that he wants both.
I'm tired of being unable to date casually (like this great blog I found) because my heart and my spirit want a partner rather than a companion.
I'm tired of the constant ticker tape of analysis that runs through my head puzzling out if a man is still interested now that he's gotten to know me and whether he's still interesting now that I've gotten to know him. (It's no use asking him: they're always either polite, manipulative or cowards but I don't have enough information about their actions to deduce the answer at this point.)
But I fear that if I stop dating, if I declare a moratorium, I'll be like a grasshopper and wallow too long in the temporary comfort of my single life when I should be an ant, storing up for winter. I fear that when I get back into it, I'll have hit an age where my only options are damaged goods, like the last pumpkins in November.
I'm fear that I'm already that old.
And I fear that by saying these things out loud I am betraying feminism, that I'll get lumped in with those women, with their romance novels and too many pictures of their nieces and nephews in their cubicle.
I'm tired of living up to my own high expectations.
I wish I could want a career instead of a family but I don't. But I can take steps toward a successful, fulfilling career where I can't take any steps toward a husband. I just don't know where he is in order to set off in that direction. So I reluctantly turn north whenever I can toward a career and take the interesting-looking side roads of dating whenever possible.
But there are long stretches of corn fields on these side roads with only a few attractions to break the monotony and I keep telling myself it will get better but I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't be heeding the adage about fool me once, fool me twice.
But it's not all bad. This weekend, I'll be heading up to Wisconsin to a wedding as my friend Susan's date to be the comic relief and to hold a drink that she can take big slugs off of between bridesmaid duties to a bride who will have gigantic hair and a dress like a cupcake. I have chosen the walleye option for my meal at the restaurant with the giant cow statue out front. I've also been asked to watch over the two boston terriers that will act as the flower girl and ring bearer.
Don't worry, I'll take pictures.
Don't read this book... - I picked up The Goliath Stone on the new releases shelf at the library. It's something like 316 pages of awful. I can't actually believe Niven was a maj...