|Image courtesy of Wacky Packages|
Or maybe not. I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't be thinking of this as a "date," but I've had so few of them in my life that I'm tempted to chalk this up in the "win" column. In any event, I've decided to use this blog, at least for the time being, to discuss what's going on in my life. And this, readers, is what's going on in my life.
First, some background. As a person whose life has been ruled to this point by fear and depression and whose default mode is seclusion, I have had very few interactions of a romantic nature in my waking life. I've had a string of crushes and hopeless infatuations since I was probably 11, but nothing meaningful or beneficial has ever occurred because of them. My one date in high school was escorting a young lady to our school's Sadie Hawkins dance. Yeah, that's the one where the girls ask the guys out, and this particular young lady was pretty insistent. Our evening was a mini-masterpiece of tragicomedy which might make for a good short story someday. Needless to say, it did not lead to a sequel.
|Ain't it the truth?|
|Group meetings: an unlikely spot for "meet cutes."|
Helen and I were discharged within a few hours of each other last Friday, and before she left, she gave me her phone number and told me to call her. I have not yet mentioned that we live in the same town just minutes from each other, but that's a huge part of the story. As with my childhood friendships, geographical convenience might play a major role in my adult relationships. Anyway, the Saturday after I got out, I hemmed and hawed a bit but finally wound up calling her number. Since then, we have talked over the phone a few times, and she suggested that we meet up at a downtown Starbucks tonight.
|Somehow, I've become Zooey Deschanel|
But, still, this story shows that I'm trying. At least I'm getting "out there," whatever that means.
Wish me luck.