Dating

Rebirth says men are never 100% single, and offers further clarification in a comment: In my opinion, being single means free from any baggage, no causal dating or stringing along, emotionally available and willing to commit if its the right person…but i find most guys have more than 2 women they are talking to at a time And I have been thinking. If I met someone (new) today, would I be emotionally available to commit, if it was the right person? Most probably not. Every time a picture of EJ flashes or her name comes up in a conversation, I realize I still haven’t forgotten, still haven’t let go. Am I ’talking’ to any other woman? No. There are the long term friends elC, TheB and ER who ostensibly might be options - but we’ve been stuck so much in the friends zone, I doubt anything can progress from that. ...

Conventional wisdom suggests that quality trumps quantity. I imagine it is an MO that ‘makes sense’: identify a few high value targets, focus the scare resource of time and energy on them and (hopefully) maximize the potential reward. Louisa May Alcott probably spoke for everyone when she had Amy say in ‘Little Women’: You don’t need scores of suitors. You need only one… if he’s the right one The only snag in that little argument is that this is based on the implicit assumption that one knows in quite precise terms what/who the One is; and that this definition is pretty much static. In real life, I suspect that the who/ what is continuously evolving, such that truly knowing what that entails is an iterative process. One then, must of necessity, date in quantity to gain a better understanding of the ‘market’. ...

Breaking up has its perks - especially when there was the small matter of a six hour difference and 3,000 plus miles. On the plus side, the need to remember birthdays (I sucked majorly at this, which probably added to my being kicked to the kerb), answer phone calls at odd hours of the day and be a pillar of strength to someone finally vanishes, and one is free to pursue other interests. On the flip side, the months of getting to know someone from the ground up are then tossed away, as though all meaning were trivial. Only after a while does the real cost register - long periods that were once filled with sharing the minutiae of life are suddenly filled with solitude; solitude which has the potential to bend one’s mind and numb it into a stupor. ...

I have been wondering if people still ‘fall’ in love? Can a guy and a girl meet, develop sparks from the get go and experience a connection like none other? Me the cynic is convinced it is all about doing the sums, weighing the pros and the cons, and deciding what ‘makes sense’ - not some visceral, emotional reaction. I wish I knew though, I really want to be swept off my feet by someone, be blown away by an emotional connection…. Somehow I know that will never be me, I will remain Me, the cynical pragmatist…

I spent the whole week - and some - agonising over the pros and the cons of one last punt, asking EJ if we were done for good. It didn’t help that she took nearly a full day to reply my initial email. Yesterday, I finally worked up the nerve to make the phone call. It still took me six tries, before I allowed the phone ring through. We talked - whilst she was out shopping with a friend. The one thing that comes out of it all is that at best, we will be acquaintances, the odd phone call every so often, the odd email and simple safe gifts for birthdays if they are remembered. Oddly enough, I never got to ask her for a black and white response as to if we were done for good. She did seem very eager to get me back into the dating business. Guess by default, we are done, and yours truly has to wise up to that and move on, difficult as it might be.. :( ...

Lists appear to have suddenly become the leitmotif of the few blogs I read. From Don Miller sharing his fiancee’s list to Esco imagining the All Nigerian Girl, to AnyaPosh, Miss Enigma, Sting and all the lasses doing that 30 day blogging thing, everyone appears to be sharing bits and pieces of lists. When I was much younger I was a big fan of lists - on everything from five year goals and plans, gadgets to buy to what I wanted in a spouse - complete with excel spreadsheets which calculated weighted averages across the various categories. The one thing I didn’t bargain for was that it would become a mechanistic check-the-box-or-check-out exercise - that happened - nor did I question the basis on which the items were identified, or if indeed I was at a time and place where I could expect those qualities from others. ...

Amidst the continuing babble of concerned friends, I may have hit upon my very own final solution. Granted it is decidedly more benign than the Nazi version, but as a strategy to buy myself much needed respite, it has worked like a charm. When asked awkward questions about being single when hanging out with the lads, my answer goes along the lines of being too busy, but declaring that I am very open to recommendations from so-called ‘knowledgeable others’. ...

My earliest memories of growing up are inextricably bound up with the dirty brown house on 4th street, brick red sand and Di, or MG as we would grow to know her in our adult years. It was the summer rainy season of 1988 and the sun in all its gory beastliness was baking us all, turning our days into long drawn out battles with boredom, exacerbated by excruciatingly boring teachers. Us boys lived for the bell, the harbinger of our short and long breaks, an all too brief salvation from studying. I was barely eight years old, but I was fast making a name for myself as a nerd; complete with very thick lenses, a voracious appetite for non-academic reading and an extreme love for solitude. The only physical activity I engaged in was the odd football kick abut where I was about as useful as a goal post. I often got sentenced to playing the goal keeper, where I was as much likely to play a wanton pass as concede a daft goal. It was an age where competition hadn’t become second nature to us though, so it wasn’t often that a gaffe was punished beyond the pitch. ...

There is no better incentive to reassess the landscape of one’s failed loves than watching re-runs of NCIS on TV on a Friday night. Something about being slouched in a lazy boy chair, empty bottles of beer to one side and the TV remote on the other, stands in marked contrast to what typical Friday nights are meant to be - maelstroms of revelry, getting hammered and possibly getting laid. ...

I wake up to the sounds of a quiet house. It has taken all of twenty four hours but finally my benumbed brain connects to reality. Last night, EJ and I split up officially. It was very amicable - no shouting, no crying, no theatrics - just two adults recognizing that the time to end our tenuous grip on each other and move on had come. It is a strange place to be. We’re still friends, we intend to keep the lines of communication open, but our nine months of being official have ended. Now that reality has hit, I feel like a large, gaping hole has been torn in my very existence. ...