Before, I could only listen when my friends described dates that left them cold. I couldn't relate to it, because I had never experienced it. Dating wasn't my m.o. for getting in a relationship. My style was more develop something with someone, whether a colleague or a friend or a fof (friend of a friend), and start to get involved. Usually with a lot of alcohol, music and soul-searching.
Since I've started this online dating malarkey, I can now relate to what they meant when they said they had a good time, but felt nothing for them. So far the tally stands at one crap date - on a spectrum, wasn't really crap, but boring and like a therapy session, and compared to how bad it could have been, wasn't crap at all. Today's date was technically perfect. We discussed politics and Russian literature over coffee, before walking along the Southbank to the Tate Modern. He dressed just the way I like, is very intelligent and ticked all the boxes.
So what the hell is wrong with me that I couldn't stop thinking about Popeye? Why on earth would I be thinking about him when I have Mr Perfect making me laugh in one of my favourite places in the world?
I could surmise that it's because I slept with him, but this is not the case. I have had sex before and not felt anything (Mcsexy being the most recent example) so I know it's not that. Somehow, he just got under my skin. Which is not what I had planned, nor I desired.
The truth is right now I want to be single, dating casually and having a laugh. I'd even be happy if the guys I met became mates and we hung out. What the heck, it shouldn't be a case of romance or bust. At least not for me. And if you get on but there's no spark, friendship is an excellent alternative. Friends are more important than lovers anyway.
But I don't want friendship with Popeye. I want HIM. Even though I could never be truly happy with him, or imagine taking him home.
The most bloody annoying aspect of it is I'm cross with myself for binning Popeye so quickly when he wasn't good enough for me and my friend was right that I deserve better and should walk away. We have nothing in common, it won't last - especially with our mutual trust issues - and he's not right for me. So why the hell does it feel that he's the right one for me? It's not about the drama, that was somewhat irritating, and given that I only ended it 2 days ago I seriously doubt that I'm viewing it retrospectively with rose-tinted glasses. Maybe the freshness of it is what's screwing with my head... Or maybe we are all wrong, and you cannot necessarily reconcile your head's logical requirements with your heart's feelings. Whatever, I don't want a fixer-upper, someone to heal and support. I want confident, self-assured, tall, well-endowed. None of which apply to Popeye.
I was talking to my friend the other day about it, the lunchtime of the day I was due to see him. I mentioned the episode of SATC where Charlotte is telling her friends about Harry and why they shouldn't be involved, how he is everything she hates - but "it's the best sex of my life. I think I might really like him". Popeye wasn't the best sex of my life, but when we kissed the world melted away. Fuck.
This brings me back to my theory that love and lust are intertwined, that women are messed up when it comes to relationships (bloody Disney) and that we rarely do what is best for us. With this in mind I am forcing myself to do the right thing.
I know walking away is the right thing to do, but the truth is I agree with what he said to me that first night - "I knew you were the one when I first saw you". I haven't told anyone he said that as it sounds a bit creepy, but our first date didn't feel like that, it felt really natural, as though we had known each other forever. And I guess that's what has gotten under my skin. And the fact that he has gotten under my skin, is exactly why I shouldn't see him again. Because I don't need to fall in love right now. And I don't need a man who is still hurting from his ex's infidelity freaking out at the idea of loving me. So I'm going to keep dating until I forget about him.
Rather ironically, as soon as I finished writing this, he text me to apologise! But he agrees he needs more time. So at least it's not left as hatred. My resolution to myself and the lessons I learned from celibacy still stand. I will not let him become another Thatch.
And actually, having written this and spoken to him, I feel a hell of a lot calmer. Mission accomplished.
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