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Bedtime Confessions IV

He has my number. He hasn't called since two Fridays ago. He smiles at me at work, offers to buy me lunch, or a cold Snapple, etc,. But He doesn't look at me with That Look as much. Fuck!

Of course this is all my doing -- it seems entering a relationship has become the most difficult thing in the world for me to do since Michael. Then again, I'm not sure if He wants a relationship. Maybe He smells my screw-happy pheromones and just wants to hop along for the... cough ...ride.

Our sexual-tension-filled Encounter wasn't the most chaste of events. Maybe He knew then: I can have this chick, she seems very willing. Maybe on the night He asked me out for falafels and beers, He was preparing to hear me scream yes, and run into his arms, panting for His sexual prowess.

Sexual prowess? Man, I need help.

In every other aspect of my life, I feel so put together: I have a wonderful job, wonderful friends and family, and great shoes. I'd just like the other part -- the relationship part -- to work out. Don't get me wrong, I've had meaningful relationships, and my last one with Michael lasted nearly three years (more on that in later posts). I think in some twisted way I'm still holding out for Michael, which is not healthy. Maybe I'm thinking he'll call and say, "Zaftig, we got it all wrong. Let's dust ourselves off and try again."

Try again? No. New start? Yes.

How?

Goodnight.
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