My life is happening faster and fuller than I can write about. I love it when this happens.
Friday night I went to dinner with a friend of mine at Sher-e-Punjab, which is my favorite Indian restaurant in San Rafael. The subject of my singlehood came up, and the tone of the meal immediately changed. I am unused to rejecting people romantically, which is not to say I haven’t done it before, but usually I have had a societally-prescribed Good Reason to, e.g. not being single. The expectation seems to be that if you’re single, you are aiming to cure this affliction as soon as possible; if not, you are considered “playing the field” and open to trial-and-error immunizations against the long-term disease of spinsterhood.
Needless to say, I’m not in this head- or heart-space. I am enjoying the self-focus that being single brings, and while I have never been one to rule out lightning-strikes, being alone is not a malady of my spirit.
I had to clearly and definitively tell my friend that I wasn’t interested in him, which was the primary issue after all, but while doing so I noticed this strange deep programming inside myself that tinged it with guilt. I wondered if this is had to do with my gender role programming or if it was a learned trait from my earliest role-models.
The rest of my weekend was much less worrisome. Saturday night, FunkyPlaid and I went to a “power’s out” party at his dear friends’ place in the city. Candles in and out of little lanterns provided light. We had dinner, played cards, made music, read poetry and stories, and had a wonderful time. I feel so happy about meeting FunkyPlaid’s friends because I know I will spend time with them even after he leaves for Scotland.
… and I really, really don’t want to write about that last, so I won’t.
After the party, FunkyPlaid and I went to a neat little bar in the city to say hello and have a drink with some of his other friends, who were all very warm and pleasant to me. I was keenly aware of being out of my element, as I usually am in bars, unless they happen to be like Moody’s in Chicago, which is my favorite place to go with Adam. Moody’s is cozy and shrouded in dark wood, and they serve the most amazing hamburgers I’ve ever tasted. When I was in Chicago the second time this year, I went to Moody’s with my mom, her boyfriend, and Adam, and we sat outside on the patio and shared beer-battered onion rings. Mm, I miss those. At any rate, the bar I went to with FunkyPlaid was crowded and loud, and I was unable to really chat with the people at the table. I rely so heavily on connecting one-on-one with people in a group that I didn’t know what to do with myself except watch others interact – which is one of my favorite things to do, so I was pretty happy, if a bit introverted.
Before we left the city, FunkyPlaid showed me a part of it I had never seen before, distinctly magical, and so soothingly quiet but for our running commentary. I wrote about the neighborhood in my offline journal, hoping to capture some of the visual memories before they faded, as they so often do from me. I considered myself a very visual person for a good part of my earlier life, but I’ve realized that is entirely inaccurate. I remember sound and touch and scent much more clearly, and if I don’t write what I see down or try to picture it often, it’s as good as gone.