All posts tagged: letters

Love, or a Literary Exercise?

Thank God my data plan now supports unlimited texting.  Date #7 and I exchanged 82 messages yesterday.  Eighty two!  Granted, he was sitting on a plane at the time so he was presumably bored and subsequently grateful to receive 50 text messages from Yours Truly, even if the majority of these were written with the emotional maturity of a seventeen year old. It’s not my fault that his letter has undone every last ounce of tranquility I’d managed to cultivate (through a complicated process of denial, distraction and sleep deprivation) since his departure from Philadelphia a week ago. I didn’t ask him to write to me. I didn’t ask him to be all sincere and romantic and nice. I didn’t ask him to make me cry, again, and this time in a good way. Most of all, I didn’t ask him to give me the opportunity to write back, thereby unleashing the fire-breathing, stationary-wielding, Jane Austen-quoting monster that’s been lying dormant ever since my last love letter failed to elicit the desired results. I used …

Help! I’m Dating Myself…

He wants to write to me.  Like a proper, hand-written letter— envelope and all.  Evidently I wasn’t the only one feeling completely mashed up inside after our weekend together; he tells me he needs to get it all down on paper… and being the hopeless romantic that I am, I’m already salivating. And here we stumble upon the greatest, well… stumbling block between me and Date #7.  It’s not that I got all insecure about our “relationship” on Sunday night and found myself literally pushing him away.  It’s not that my life is here, on this side of the state, and his life is there, on the other.  It’s not that he reminds me of my first boyfriend. It’s that he reminds me of myself. I used to think I’d like to date a male version of myself.  (Egocentric much?)  You know: someone who’s creative, artistic, mildly intelligent, spiritual-but-not-religious (that’s official Match.com parlance for you there), politically left-of-center and “deep” enough to indulge my occasional philosophizing. Well, I’ve met that person.  That person is Date …