The ground was shifting beneath me again. I may be a "spiritual gangster" and shit, but my mind was still filled with uncertainty and my bones ached with the threat of loneliness which I knew would only intensify over the next two years while living on a private resort island in the Caribbean with a population of three hundred.
It took a lot of courage to admit to myself that I needed space from Mr. Weird Science. I didn't really wanna walk away from our relationship but my spirit felt restless knowing that after all this time, he wasn't interested in something serious. I couldn't believe I'd unwittingly let myself get this far into a relationship when our intentions were so different. And it hurt to realize that perhaps my value wasn't valuable enough -- to him.
So I made up some lame ass excuse for my total and utter awkwardness. I had to. I was too embarrassed to 'fess up for real. I'd already tipped the scales of comfortable vulnerability. And then to add to my humiliation, Mr. Weird Science called me out with a quick text response saying he hoped the "real reason" for my awkwardness wasn't because of our intimate little conversation that took place after whiskey, after sex and in the dark. Damn him for seeing straight through me!
In a city of eight million people, the possibility of running into him seemed unlikely. And daytime took him completely out of context. But as soon as my brain's facial recognition skills kicked in, I realized I was standing face-to-face with Mr. Weird Science project. My ego retreated. I couldn't even pretend to be normal.
At this point, I seemed to be the only one with the pressing need to either move forward with our relationship or move on. Despite my growing feelings for "Mr. Weird Science project", we were basically just "friends with benefits". Perhaps that's all he ever wanted. Ick! I certainly didn't sign up for that scenario. At least, not intentionally.
Usually, our post-sex silence is almost as intoxicating as the sex. Our bodies remain blurred together and magnetized by some type of cosmic energy that floods my spirit with warm sensations of "yes". That type of hushed connection feels absolutely delicious and completely non-threatening... for awhile.
Whiskey cures paralysis of the tongue, so I've discovered. I finally got the nerve to speak my truth; albeit a slightly inebriated version of the truth. But I made sure sex happened first. I'd be damned to let this "relationship" possibly fizzle without gettin' a little nookie beforehand.
My heart feels all warm and gooey right now. Last time I felt this way was circa 2000. But my body remembers vividly this deliciously tortuous feeling when hours of productivity are squandered away daydreaming, dissecting the meaning of each moment spent together and living in anticipation of the next time. I’m such a girl.
After minimal hours of sleep and a strong cup of coffee by my side, I clocked in at my new full-time job: cultivating a love connection on OkCupid. It required the labor intensive tasks of sorting though and scrutinizing profiles and quiver connections to see if anyone peaked my interest or titillated my ego.
I don't know if it's age and maturity or shear fear, but I realize that I'm far more cautious in my approach to dating than I was in my twenties. That was the last time I was single. Back then I was so easily lured by looks and raw physical attraction that I was pretty reckless with my heart and my body; not thinking of the emotional consequences of giving too much or giving it up too quickly to someone not worthy of me.
