Quick, Someone Commit Me

Greetings from the Gwretch.

Things are looking up, if by "up" I mean into a clear night sky where constellations and planets shine lazily. If I blink and realize I don't know what I'm looking at, I can begin to make out their patterns. Start to plot a course.

I've been taking a dear friend's advice and living with my balls out, albeit with some trepidation and I hope, more sensitivity than I've displayed in the past.

As those balls have taken on a decidedly blue tinge over the last weeks, I decided to ask my Date for clarification. Being me, I wrote an incredibly detailed-yet-succinct script for myself before addressing the target of my desire. Yessir, had all my points numbered, essay form. Of course, being me what came out was a hesistant "Uh, do you like me?" Way to go for kickin' er off, eh?

Perhaps this was the way to go, though, as neither of us have had a clear idea of what we're supposed to be doing as participants in this extended dating thing. However, I've known enough to be close to giving up. An example of this is an exchange we had a couple of days ago over tea, when I asked about his plans later on in the week.

After a rambling description of his various work- and recreation-related activities, I responded with a shrug. "Well, call me when you've got some free time and want to hang out."

Could it be any more noncommital. Apparently so. His reaction was, "Aw, that's not going to work...I can never remember to call you." And then, showing he was not totally bereft of his senses, his mouth snapped shut.

A pause. With a smile as sweet as anti-freeze, I gave the appropriate response. "Well, honey, if you can't remember to call me then perhaps that's a good indication we shouldn't hang out anymore."

He looked frozen for a second. "No, no. I'm going to call you. I'll remember."

I bit my tongue to stop an "Oh, goody!" from escaping. It's not fair to be a reflexive bitch. It's part of what makes men so terrified of women. I didn't know what was going on with him but have had enough faith in my own judgment (still!) to give him some grace.

Sure enough, he did call the next day to make not one, but two plans with me for the week. As plan-making, along with telephone-talking and sober getting-it-on have been his weak points, I congratulated him on his progress. (Okay, maybe a bit of a reflexive bitch surfaces from time to time, can you blame me?)

Last night I launched an offensive. Yes sisters, I wore a skirt, thigh-high stockings and some sexy boots. After dinner we went back to his place to watch a movie. Here we go, I thought. Who can resist the lethal trifecta of leggy wear, especially when backed up with the artillery of subtle eye make-up?

I got my hand held. The whole movie. Apparently, the trifecta's powers have waned in recent years. Afterwards, although it was late and he was yawning, I was compelled to kick off the can-we-talk with the blurted "Uh, do you like me?" I got my answers.

In summary, yes, but he'd been spooked by his own assumptions. He'd reckoned once we did the deed I'd start demanding he go on automatic Boyfriend mode. Staying over regularly, public displays of affection, plans being made for him, having to introduce me as the Girlfriend. Commitment. Frequent allusions to the future, long talks about the Relationship and Where This Is Going and We're Not Getting Any Younger, You Know. Terrifying stuff, especially to a guy who for many years was pretty damn single due to the travel requirements of his old job.

The irony was that I'd been worried myself about what he wanted as commitment. I'd thought, good lord, this guy is sensitive (I knew he wasn't dumb). Cripes, he doesn't want to have sex until he gets to "know me". Jeepers. What a relief to hear he'd been sweating the same stuff as me, kinda.

This is great, I thought, now he'll be stoked to learn I'm planning to only be here a few more months and am just looking for a casual dating thing (i.e. fuck-buddy who likes to occasionally hang out as well). In truth, I'd liked him enough till then to have been open to more, but only slightly more. I'd even been alarmed by slightly more and its possible repercussions on my life.

He seemed taken aback by my venturing that we stick to just dating, and not even exclusive dating at that. Startled, even. Like he'd secretly wanted the extended warranty option without investing in it up front. Yes, part of me says jeesh; part of me sympathizes. So who knows where it'll go.

I made him a good offer, I think, friendship and sex and no expectation of exclusivity. But I understand that the tricky thing about getting a good offer is that it can make you realize that's not what you wanted after all. After many hours of serious reflection, I conclude: Fuck it. See how it plays.

On other fronts, this week has been a good one for decision-making and opportunities. I've turned down an exciting but not-for-me business proposal (oh so lucrative...so respectable...so not me).

I've been accepted into a post-graduate program in a faraway, large city. I was shocked to feel so pleased about the acceptance, I'd reckoned I was a long-shot. It's looking like that will be my future plan, although I haven't abandoned altogether my "Eureka!" idea of travelling the world studying various forms of martial arts and writing a book about it. Maybe I can have it all, who knows.

And a strange peace was won with my lover and friend. We've resumed a more familiar tone in our correspondence, one grounded in friendship and affection and mutual respect and who knows? I was blunt with him, that I didn't know if what we'd been doing was over or not, and that I value his friendship above all. That I've come to the conclusion I don't have anything of real worth to offer anyone in the ways of Love until I figure my own shit out. That I just didn't know anymore but was going to make it, lovesexromance, a secondary consideration until I got a better sense of myself. (And then I shut up about it. I've stopped saying things to get reactions, I just needed to get it off my chest, and now we can continue.)

This 'Not Good Enough' may sound like a harsh self-analysis--those of you who know me, I do believe you love and value me and wish to see me well-matched--but I believe it to be a fair one. It's taken me a lot of soul-searching to come to this conclusion. I'm getting used to it and it's freeing me up, maybe even compelling me to be a grounded person, above all else.

Lordy. Thirty-six going on eighteen. I'll let you know how the second adolescence continues to play out. In the meantime, I'm starting capoeira tonight. Ha!

~Gretchen "Lethal Weapon" Rutte