We were texting earlier and I made a comment that my date cancelled on me tonight so I will be home with wine. “My date” is my new friend Erin. That is the way I speak but I knew it sounded like I meant a real date, and I wanted him to take note.
Now? I kind of want to throw up. I am almost desperately afraid that he will stop the sexing. The thought of him not being in my life brings tears to my eyes. Literally, right now. Blur.
That’s not good. Not exactly the right reaction for someone I’m supposed to be casually screwing. You and I know it goes way beyond that.
So we wait.
Then after a moment I get up and keep on with my day. It’s done. We’ll see if he brings it up.
I mostly don’t want him to think I was trying to con him. I wasn’t. I do call it a date. (That sentence feels like bad English but I can’t quite figure out why.) I have a lunch date with Jessica tomorrow. Date = appointment = meeting = same same.
I’ll be glad when all this pot is gone. Last party for a while tomorrow. Jeff is okay. Gord is wonderfully elusive and AMAZING in bed. I am… struggling. But it’s a good struggle. I need it right now. I will be better for it.
Still. Wish I hadn’t sent that text.