Cataclysm

I've been pretty absent from this blog for the last few weeks. I can pretend like it's because I'm trying to pace myself and not become too obsessed about posting, but really it's because I've been lazy. Not even busy, just not inspired enough by my life events to create an entry.

It's been a messy two weeks, honestly. I still haven't heard back from the dream job, and I've basically given up hope at this point. I'm doing better at work, but I also want to leave more than ever. My classes almost don't exist to me; they feel unimportant and surreal, and I'd rather stay in bed (though I can't).

There's a heat wave hitting my part of the state right now, and it makes life a living hell. The humidity is impossible and there's a constant sheen of sweat on my neck-my laptop overheats way too quickly and I feel an inevitable net of lethargy cast upon me, as if any motion will only render me the most terrible of all consequences.

But these things are not why I'm here, finally posting after two weeks. Anyone can see right through my heat rant and realize that it's just an intro, a gateway to the bigger, deeper concepts in which I'm about to submerge.

So why am I updating?

Well, in the past week I've found myself in a personal dilemma. Yep, here we come with the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God (or whichever higher being that may or may not be out there). I'm baring it all.

Of course, like any predictable girly anecdote, this one starts with a boy.

So reel back to a week ago-I'm at a social event, I'm drunk, and I'm with my friends. I start a conversation with a Guy, not thinking too much about it. His friend comes over, and I try to set him up with my friend. In this process, Guy also turns out to be pretty interested in me. We dance. We hold hands. We kiss. I somehow end up giving him a fake name, but my real phone number (Is this a sign?).

The next morning I wake up, complaining about the sunlight. I forget, even, that I gave him my number. My friend and I get bagels. I get a text.

It's him.

My initial reaction is panic. Who is he? Why is he texting me? Should I just say he got the wrong number? Instead, I confirm my identity. I reply with a "Hey." I throw in a :), and I don't know why (Is this a sign?).

We start talking, and in the back of my mind, I'm telling myself to stop. I'm telling myself to tell him that I'm not interested, that it was just a one-time thing, that I'm not looking for anything. But he seems nice. He seems fun. He seems like a good kisser. And somehow, an hour later, we have a date on Sunday (This is a sign, right?).

Throughout the week I worry. I flip and flop, back and forth, wondering if this was the right decision. Several times I get to the point of texting him and saying it's off, coming up with a basket of excuses for why I can't go out with him.

I never send any of those texts. Instead, we talk. Cute little nothings, but it's sweet, if not perfectly genuine on my end. Sunday gets closer. This doesn't feel like reality.

Sunday comes, and I spend, literally, 4 hours getting ready (Is this a sign? What even is a sign anymore?). He said he'd pick me up at 8:00pm. He's here at 7:59. I see him, for the first time, sober. He's cute. He's actually really cute. I'm starting to think he's out of my league even. He drives, and we make small talk. He's moved a lot. I've moved a lot. He's funny. It's nice.

We get there. we walk. He's sweet. He's thoughtful. He's polite. He holds my hand. He shares a funny anecdote. We find a place to sit and he kisses me. I kiss back. It feels great. We move around, taking our time at a playground, and on a hill. We scope out a random building, and he jokes that if anyone asks, we're looking for a church to get married in. He asks me to teach him Chinese. He's not very good at it, but he tries.

We settle down by the beach. He pulls out a towel, so we don't get sandy. Things heat up, and I know what he wants. But I'm not ready. I'm not prepared, and I tell him, and he accepts it. He's disappointed, but instead of lashing out, he's kind, he's selfless, and he has my feelings as priority. We end up lying on the sand, looking up at the stars.

He takes me home, and he's a perfect gentleman. He insists on walking me to my door. With my persistent words, he returns to his car, but he doesn't drive away until I'm safely inside.

And then reality hits. And I realize that we can't continue. Truth is, under everything that I've said and claimed, I'm scared. There are so many factors that come into play-I don't know if we have enough in common, I don't know if I can fully trust him, I'm not sure of myself, I'm not ready, it's moving too fast and I don't feel like I'm in control, I'm afraid of what my parents will think, I'm afraid of how it might affect my life, and I'm just so so afraid.

And because of that fear, when he texts me today with a fun, flirty "Heyy :)" I don't respond. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to break up with him, though is it even that when I haven't even dipped my toe in this relationship?

So I wait. I ask a friend for advice. She's super helpful, even if she doesn't realize. I finally do it. And while I'd made up a bucket full of excuses before, I throw them aside again. I tell him I'd meant for it to just be a one-time thing, that it's going too fast and I don't think we can do this anymore. And then I put my phone away. I'm scared of what he might say. I'm afraid of how he might react.

An hour or two later, I realize he's responded. I can't bring myself to read the text, so I hand it off to a friend, asking her to read it out loud. I brace myself for the worst.

Even so, I'm not prepared for what I hear.

"It's chill. I completely understand."

I'm relieved. I am relieved right? Isn't that how I should feel? Like I'm free?

And yet, furtive tears begin to leak from the corners of my eyes. I shake it off, wiping them away as I assure my friends that they're tears of relief. I push it to the back of my mind. I tell myself that this is good.

But here I am now. I'm alone, in the dark, and for some reason, I'm still crying.

Did I make a mistake? Did I pass up on something that could have been it? Did I turn down a guy who, in all terms necessary, could be defined as "perfect?"

So now I'm sitting here, by myself, and all I can think about is what I've just done. I don't think it should hurt as much as it does right now. Did I make a mistake?

I don't know. I really don't know. But it's for the best, right?
I really hope I'm right.