I'm embarrassed to say that the last fishie who swam near my hook, Funny Hat Man, is not working out well. The embarrassment comes from my failure to call him, as I told him I would, three nights in a row. Some of that time I was unexpectedly busy (last night on the phone with the cable company all evening), but mostly it was my deviant subconscious.
I have an unfortunate subconscious which has gotten me into trouble many times. There have been words that pop out that I mean but should not say, behavior that is driven by emotions I'm not entirely aware of, memories that are suppressed for reasons of Darwinian survival. The utter repression of my intention of calling Funny Hat Man may fall under that latter category. It's clear to me now that I just don't want to do it.
I did call him, however,at almost 10 pm last night. This was after the last attempt to find out why the cable guy never showed up, though I had arranged the whole day so I'd be home between 5 and 8 pm. My phone call to Funny Hat went right to voicemail. His voice on the machine, plus my joy at not having to talk to him, were both ridiculous. This just isn't good. Dating isn't supposed to be this much fun.
And no sooner did I take the deal to re-up with Match.com for another month at 30% off than I lost all desire to slog on with this. Sorry, blog, and blog readers, if anyone out there is reading. I don't know if I'll be posting again, though I intend to check the offerings on Match frequently, since I've already paid for it. My sainted parents would never forgive me if they knew I'd bought something and never used it. So you may or may not hear from me again. You never know.
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