Un-Phased

I was feeling pretty sad Saturday night without really knowing the reason why. I think it had something to do with my confusion about my friend, the Saint. I secretly wanted him to be a little more than a friend, and was a little wounded when it seemed like nothing was ever going to develop. In between his dramas with his ex-girlfriend and random moments of pinned up aggression, he seemed to cast me aside to focus on other things, and to tell you the truth, I kind of did the same thing. I like to give off the impression that everything is always okay that I’m always unphased by what’s going on around me when that’s really so far from the truth. I felt so conflicted and full of chaos on Saturday that I was annoyed by the quiet and peaceful serenity of my apartment. I simply had to get out and go somewhere noisy and busy, so my internal state could match my environment. I, of course, wound up at the only place in Nashville that I ever seem to go these days Ibiza.

It started off being a very dull night, filled with bad dancers and menacing Hondurans who were only good for buying me drinks. I was about the leave early in order to save myself from any further embarrassment when I met someone. He’s just my type with long dark curly hair, and I couldn’t believe how easily the two of us came together. It didn’t take any effort. I didn’t have to stop and contemplate anything. It just felt meant to be. I nearly forgot that the Saint existed when the devil himself finally strolled in the club, complaining that I didn’t call him to let him know that I was coming tonight. He seemed happier then usual to see me, dancing freer than he usually does. When he saw how happy I was with the new guy, he acted unphased and even joked, “Am I invited to the wedding?” I wondered if he ever felt anything for me at all or if my imagination got the best of me once again. Whatever the case the Saint did not show one hint of emotion. He even lovingly named my new beau the Rock Star because of his long unruly hair. It’s such a good nickname that I think I’m going to have to borrow it for this blog. From now one, he’ll be know as the Rock Star (R.S. for short).

Anyway, R.S. promptly called me yesterday afternoon. I was a little disappointed in our conservation. We only talked of simple things like work, apartments, how we met. I wished I knew how to get more substance out of him, but I really don’t think that he’s the intellectual type that ponders to meaning of existence or anything like that. I wonder if we truly have anything in common at all, however I have a feeling that knowing R.S. is going to be an all consuming type of experience. He’s already calling me twice a day and wanting to plan frequent dates throughout the week. It’s nice to get all of this extra attention, but I don’t know if I'm ready for all of this. I always get scared off by men who are so forward and demanding, but I’m thinking that maybe I should give it a shot this time. At least from all the extra time that we’ll be spending together, I’ll be able to tell that much sooner if he’s the right one for me. Plus, I’m sick and tired of pretending to be unphased. I want someone to get to me. I want someone to make me feel something, and I want it to be okay for me to show those emotions. It’s so hard to trust people with how you really feel, and bad relationships with the Neighbor and the Columbian definitely do not make it any easier for me to open up, but the past is a shallow excuse that I use to often. I don’t even think that it’s the past that is truly haunting me. Sometimes I feel like my identity is so wrapped up in wondering what my great life is going to be like, that it frightens me to ever come close to finding an answer. I am a wonderer. Maybe I’m never supposed to figure it out.