Been on a couple of dates recently. Not exactly super-in-depth kind of dating, but some quick and somewhat comfortable outings. Don't know whether they were good ideas or not-- I tend to think they were, since nobody was killed or maimed or anything-- but I'm in that funky place where I don't know if I'm actually dating material.
Right now it's a non-issue. Between trying to finish some of the ADR on the movie and the work on the front porch, I don't have either the time or the money to be doing much of anything social. I know that I'm gonna need some decompression time in there somewhere before the porch framing is due for inspection (coincidentally right around my birthday time), but outside of that, I'm in a sort of viral hermit mode.
I do a lot of intellectualizing about love and like and romance and sex and fumbly groping and all-- I put the anal in analysis-- but it's what I do. It's the kind of tools that I have. I want to reduce love to a formula, or a series of equations, or descriptors that I can put into a box and measure and take out and compare and see how it's doing. And I know it doesn't work like that, and that frustrates me to no end. People (individuals) are unpredictable. Attraction is unpredictable. And in the end I don't know what the hell I'm doing when I walk into that arena.
Sometimes I get my ass handed to me. (Hey. Here's your ass. Thanks.)
But I am more and more convinced that I'm just not good at the whole romantic thing. I'm not spontaneous. My passion tends to get funneled into creative projects. I tend to get absorbed in what I'm doing and lose track of dates and times and stuff. I don't get all gooey with babies (though I do with puppies), and to me, small children are like unto aliens.
I am brilliant with things mechano-technical. I am completely cloudy when it comes to the emotional side of people. And women seem to be pretty heavily oriented toward the emotional side (not that I should ever use heavily and women in the same sentence ever again). They cry. In my world, when something is leaking fluid, it's probably broken, and I want to fix it.
But sometimes they also kiss. And cuddle. And do other, more friendly things. And I like those things.
So I keep heading back into the arena. Different armor every time. Never works. Get my ass handed to me again and again. Beginning to think I have the equivalent of a giant KICK ME sign taped to my back.
Makes for this bizarre dichotomy of fear and desire, like Homer simpson with an electrified pie.