As you may have guessed from my earlier entries, I’m okay with not dating for now. In fact, I’m okay with it for a good long while.
Since I was 19 till two months ago, I’ve always either been in love from afar, in love up close, trying to date, or dating. That’s 15 years’ worth of being obsessed – because I tend to get obsessed by these kind of things – with men, or in some cases boys. Little boys. Little boys who want their mommies. But I digress.
So while I’ve lived on my own, I’ve never lived just for me, without thinking about someone or wishing I were with someone or trying to get with someone. And now I’m psyched to be doing that: living life without pining for the One. And so far, at least since getting over my last breakup, I’ve gone along just fine. I’ve had zero desire to put up an online ad, or to get set-up, or to do speed dating.
But lately I’ve had that other kind of desire. The kind that ramps up at certain times of the month, that makes me look twice at any – and I mean ANY – halfway decent looking guy. That makes me remember certain, um, situations from the past, and that gets me even more worked up when I have to write a sex scene (and yes, I do mean “have” to, totally intrinsic to the plot) for my NaNoWriMo novel.
What’s one to do? Nothing, I guess. I don’t know. I can’t picture myself just going out and gettin’ some from some random person. There needs to be some emotional involvement, some comfort level, otherwise it’s just weird.
*Sigh.* Lots of running. Lots and lots of running.