Friday, July 1, 2011

Day 270: Master Of My Own Demise


The Matrix.
Not just a movie.
It’s the code impossible to decipher by singles on dates everywhere.
Situation:
You go on a date with a guy you have a huge crush on.
You talk. You make assumptions with the conversation.
You test the waters.
You speak in code. On purpose.
You act a little the way you think they want you to.
They don’t respond to that, so then you act like yourself.
You look like a crazy schizophrenic for changing mid-date.
You’re not playing games.
You’re just nervous.
You like this person. You think.
But you can’t tell if he likes you.
Vague signals are sent your way.
He smiles at you. Sits close on the pub table. Your outer forearms are touching.
You feel a little jolt of chemistry. You relax.
Then he says, “You should totally sell your stuff and live abroad if that’s what you want to do.”
Your body tenses up.
What does that mean on date #1, exactly?
Matrix.
In one sentence he tries to figure out where you see this 'relationship' going.
In another, he offers advice on where to meet great guys in the city.
Matrix.
What the fuck?
Aren’t we on a date?
When did this turn into a buddy tête-à-tête?
Fuck you. (You say in your head).
And then you start to tell yourself maybe this could just be physical.
You start to look at his biceps.
Can they lift me up and throw me against the wall?
Meanwhile he’s talking about his parents.
Matrix.
You stop looking at his biceps.
He’s sensitive. 
He could totally be a good boyfriend.
Matrix.

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