Update:
Limerance Girl has now blown off my suggested hangouts three times in a row. It's long past time for me to move on. But damn I'm mentally dis-regulated and sad.
She was very excited to attend a big event as my date when I asked her a week ago. Now it turns out she'll be out of town at that time (a month from now). I was excited because it was another chance for me to be to show up as a leader and man of action, to be the big fish in the small pond that I am.
Whether her trip was already booked and she just forgot to check dates, or she booked it between when I asked and now, it's clear. I am low on her priority list. Ouch. A new dude? An ex coming back into the scene? Scared of getting more deeply involved with me? A general lack of enthusiasm when it comes to me? I have no idea.
But I do know I've got to get in touch with my inner Stoic. Time to, in the immortal words of Shoresy: "Give my balls a tug."
It's all-too-reminiscent of the time in my life after my first divorce. I was 38 years old, missing my kids like crazy, broke and depressed. My friend, a professor, set me up with one of his students, she was 36 at the time, a home-health aide and a part-time fitness model. Problem was she lived two hours away, and she wasn't as attractive to me as my ex-wife, who was a great beauty and very voluptuous. Fitness model was very pretty, and had an incredibly tight body as you would expect, but didn't have that sheen of glamour as my Marilyn Monroe-looking ex did. But she was smart and funny and I really enjoyed talking to her. Especially since I was living in an area with very few decent romantic prospects. The dangers of having a super-hot wife were that all the women around seemed like a serious downgrade.
We only met up twice, never fucked her, only kissed once, a very sweet and lingering kiss but far from a full-on makeout. She was supposed to come up for the weekend twice and begged off at the last minute. Then it turns out she told me she met someone else. I was devastated. But why? The way she described the dude he seemed pretty lame and low-rent. She wasn't as hot as my ex-wife, who I was happy to be getting divorced from (as much as my heart was broken because of my kids). It truly took years for me to get past the fitness model. It was truly a mental illness, my constant obsession with her.
When I moved to my present town nearly 25 years ago, there was a fitness magazine with her on the cover. For months I had to see her mega-wattage smile and gorgeous booty every time I worked out. I should have just tossed it, but instead made it a point to pour my frustrations into my workouts. I got very fit, but I couldn't stop obsessing about her. Even when I was banging women almost as hot and even one who was every bit as hot.
This was deep into my Nick Cave era, so this song was on heavy rotation. It would make me cry every time I'd hear it. Such a perfect summation of how vulnerable I was at at the time:
I have everything I need to get past this. I've got my Ex-Ex back in rotation (who 17 years ago was easily the greatest limerance obsession I've ever had, now I'm the dog that caught the car), there's at least three lovely girls who would be thrilled to service me, a couple dozen prospects from last year and earlier this year with the dating apps, so why am I feeling so lovelorn and broken?
I need to be focusing on the future. If I can get the IRS letter and close escrow this week, I'll have all my bills paid and a substantial sum of money in the bank, I'll have a very flexible schedule and miles and miles of open road in front of me. This should be the most exciting time in my life.
It's probably not a great idea for me to be dumping it all out here, where I face a gauntlet of metaphorical bitch slaps, but it does feel better to just get it all out. The entire point of this journal was to share my struggles with this latest incident and it's been helpful. I already feel a little lighter and brighter.
In the meantime, I'm still trying to approach regularly, but in a small town, opportunities are scarce. It's been good for my social skills, as my business shrank since the pandemic and I'm having to handle a larger load of sales.
The only pretty girl that has my interest at the moment is the Melancholy Beauty, and I haven't seen her in a week. She's quite frosty, probably just shy. I'm telling myself that I'll be the best thing that ever happened to her. Next encounter I'm going for the number pull.
In the meantime, I'm telling myself that the fact I'm susceptible to romantic obsession is because I'm a man of grand emotions, of sweeping narratives, of vivid colors in a dull gray world. I'm a walking, talking, loving real-life Nick Cave song. That's better than telling myself that I'm a needy little bitch boy who didn't get enough love from my mommy, which is probably closer to the case.
