There are other guys. There are A LOT of other guys.
This week, I have already:
Gone Out With The Lawyer
I don’t think I like this lawyer very much, and somehow I ended up going out with anyway (last minute invite and I was bored). He took me to a concert, after fancy cocktails and a cheese plate, and then to a quick dinner after. And then we made out in his car. Eh. It was unsatisfying.
Made Plans with the Agency Director
I made plans to see the creative agency director for drinks (he wants to date me, I want a job). He asked me when I was getting ready to meet the lawyer and what was supposed to be a business oriented thing became a flirtation, which is always where he wanted it to go. It’s a little slutty for me to use that talk business, but he is using business to try to sleep with me, so whatever. I wouldn’t be working for him, but I would like for him to help me find a job.
Accepted an Event Invite from the Editor
The silliest thing I have done today is I accepted an invite to a really fun event with 2013 ed Editor who needs a better name, but it makes me laugh. The event is very public.
We have not seen each other since our date that was a date last week. I am not his wife; I am the very attractive woman who will be his date. It will be awkward because we are secretly dating.
Oh, and the Writer will surely figure it out.
It’s that public.
The tickets are not inexpensive, so I am obviously — to the Writer or anyone paying attention — someone’s date. We will be talking about it while we are there, as the Writer and I did with the movie we saw. Well, that we each discussed the next day, never mentioning specifically when we saw it or that we were together. It may not be obvious that we are there together, but it will be obvious we will both be there.
The Writer will likely ask me, if he cares to know. He seems to never care, except the in case of the editor because they do know each other socially and professionally. He knows the Editor and I are friends. He assumes the Editor is interested in me.
He is right.
The awkward part is: it is a secret.
Kinda like the Writer didn’t want me to tell the Editor we are having sex (“thank you for not discussing with him our amazing boning,” when I told him I was with the Editor), the Editor doesn’t want anyone to know that we are secretly dating. Which means I have to lie about it, which makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want to lie when people ask me. Real people I mean. I have no problem lying to people who are not core people in my life. Lying to the Writer, if he asks, feels wrong, but it is essentially the same thing he wants me to do to the Editor.
It may be a dealbreaker, how we sort through this issue. I don’t want to lie to either of them.
And being my secret beau’s date to this function, where we will be drinking alcohol, is going to be interesting. Everyone knows he is married. Everyone knows I am single. We have to pretend to be friends.
The chemistry between us is strong. The event is 30 minutes outside of town, so we will be driving out together. It will definitely be romantic. It will definitely be a date.
But, you know, secret.
I am already anxious about it and it is days away.
Spoken Daily with the Writer
I have spoken on the phone daily with the Writer, who is heading out of town Friday morning, which means we are unlikely to see each other.
I am trying not to be bummed out about that.
I texted him last night during my date.
From the ladies room, but I did.
When he called me en route to work, I told him this morning: “I miss you.” He responded: “I miss you, too. [laughed ruefully] I also miss, like, breathing.” He’s having a really hard week. Stupid mistakes by other people. His company canceling a big project he and others were going to work on, for budgetary reasons. Getting ready to go out of town. Etc. He said he crashed early last night and then had work nightmares.
Also, I doubt I have been great for his productivity.
He’s not great for mine, but I don’t have a lot of hobbies these days.
I consider going out my hobby. I don’t watch television. I don’t play sports. I don’t even work out.
Talking to the Writer, going out with the other guys, that’s what I am actually doing for fun.
The Other Other Guys.
There are three others I’ve gone out with recently: the formerly hot realtor, the bodyguard, and the architect. I liked the architect. He travels every other week for work and I have no idea if he is here or there this week. He’s brilliant and handsome and fascinating and likely not into me at all.
It is always hard to say, and I am a terrible judge without an absolute overt move, but still, I think he’s not interested, though we did follow up afterwards. I think he is more interested in me as a business prospect than a potential dating partner.
We shall see.
I think that is everyone.
Other Other Things.
I have been ailing and money is exceptionally tight at the moment. Also because I have been ill, I have not really been working much, which means money is tighter and now people are getting a little annoyed. I will figure out a way to fix it, but it’s rough.
And, I am desperately waiting to see when I get paid on this project I worked on for six months. Once that happens, I can get an apartment of my own and start putting my life back in order.
I cannot wait.
This existence is chaotic and often sleepless.
I miss stupid things — my amazing bed, my favorite chef’s knife. I miss privacy and quiet.
I miss knowing that I can be truly alone.
I also miss the ability to have someone over to watch a movie or snuggle in bed or spend the night. I miss the stability of having a place to go for the next few months. Of being able to unpack. Of living again.
Needless to say the Writer is increasingly anxious for me to be in my own space (married). The Editor, when he thinks about it will likely feel the same way.
I want to be in my place doing my stuff again.
I want to have dinners and drinks at my place.
I want to do a lot of things differently this time.
I am a different person than I was. I want to be in that life now.
Instead, I am living on borrowed time, in borrowed places, cleaning up old messes.
Fingers crossed that can change next week.
Fingers crossed more that I figure out what I am doing at the moment and do it better and stronger every day.
I am better than I have ever been — smarter, healthier, more whole. I’d like my life to demonstrate that in tangible ways.