Torpor without the tequila

Emotional hangover (n.) – the lingering essence of being abruptly cut off after sharing large amounts of intimate energy with something or someone in the attempt to cultivate budding feelings of connection.

Admittedly, I wrestled with posting anything more about this dating shit. Mainly because I got got, in the simplest of terms. I don’t do back-to-back meetups with prospects, but it happened, totaling nearly 4 hours of hanging out…on a Thursday with me on a serious sleep deficit. Yeah, there was mad chemistry. Which shouldn’t have been a surprise considering the literal essays we sent back and forth prior to meeting.

I’m not going to go too deep in details because honestly this situation is still developing and I’m not totally sure if I’ve been ghosted just yet. She claimed she was fairly ill, so I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt until this week is over. Ghosting isn’t her style frankly, but what do I know? Maybe that’s the new technique.

At any rate, I’ve now since come out of my emotional hangover that really started on Sunday. Last Thursday’s meetup went so well, I could barely keep my cool about meeting on Saturday…that never happened. Apparently, vomit and bodily neglect was to blame, all fair points on her front. I was still pissed. Not at her, but at the situation and how I foolishly fell into anticipation. Generally I opt to keep my expectations low, but everything went so well, I decided to through caution and my defense against feeling some type of way, into the wind. Well, what a find emotional mess I found myself in.

Naturally, communication was sparse and she did reply when she could while deathly ill. I wasn’t expecting the same level of conversation as prior knowing she was basically a zombie. Despite the rational angel understanding the circumstance, that carnal alley cat was not having it. And if there’s one way to really piss me off it’s  keeping me in the dark. If she had said “Hey, I’m gonna focus on getting better. Talk to you in 2 weeks,” I wouldn’t have bat an eye. Say nothing and I implode internally. It’s my character flaw and a weakness that’s hard to absolve. I just value knowing what’s going on.

Communication wanes over the weekend and now I’m spiraling into “Fuck, this is how it starts” mode. I did send a follow up text yesterday after communing with crickets for a day and a half. I was met with more crickets. Then began the come-down from the high of “New potential connection, who dis?” into “God damnit, not a-fucking-gain man.” I wanted more connection, was promptly met with silence and yeah. Suffice to say I was playing some pretty drab music up until this evening. I’m fine now, slowly easing into acceptance then that’ll shift into indifference and apathy, then we’re back to neutral.

I’ll probably send one final text then leave it at that. She has the benefit of the doubt until this weekend, then there’s literally nothing I can do beyond turning into a stalker, which is way too much work. I hope (I know) I’m overreacting and I hope I’m proven wrong before this week is out. It’s just weird that someone would invest so much of themselves into a situation just to leave it by the wayside, hence my intellectual struggle with this scenario. Had it been obvious that she just didn’t give a shit, I’d be happier ironically enough. Because I would have known it was doomed. Currently, I’m at a lost due to how proactive she was about meeting. Ah well.

I don’t get much pleasure from predicting my own bullshit, so here’s to me being a neurotic overthinker. Cheers.