Dating truly is fucking hell. But, with the absence of love in one’s life, a person needs to do the proactive thing. I personally pace and breathe crazily before dates, I try to process all my negative thoughts as quickly as possible and then I try to think about nothing until she arrives. Wherever it is we’re supposed to meet, I’m almost always early and I’ve almost always cut myself shaving. I stand there on a corner or in a coffee shop and I have to force myself not to plan the things I’m going to tell her, all the while dabbing my bleeding face with a napkin growing more anxious than last time even. A planned conversation is a dishonest conversation; it leaves no room for her input. But without planning, who’s to say any words will come out of my mouth at all? I have to convince myself even for an hour that I don’t hate every single thing about myself. And, I must focus every last bit of scheming brain power on the task at hand: concocting convincing new ways to spin my insanity as an appealing comic blend of neuroses and good-natured kook.
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