Mr. Something To Do

There is a cafe downtown that I have had so many first dates at that when my latest internet find suggested a different cafe a few blocks away I gave him points for originality. So of course when we met there after work one day it was closed and we ended up walking the few blocks to my normal first date cafe. It was as if the dating gods were saying, “Oh no no no. You haven’t made it past here yet.”

But I gave him further points when he was good natured and easy going about it all, including the fact that the cafe was so packed that we had to sit on the staircase for awhile until a table opened up.

But as we chatted those points began to slide. We chatted about his work (which he doesn’t really like but it’s okay and he can’t think of anything he’d rather be doing) and about where he has lived (various areas of the state but didn’t really like any of them except Madison’s alright) and about his one hobby, bike racing (which sounds cool at first but when asked why he likes it he shrugged and said, “I dunno. Something to do, I guess.”)

So there I was, sitting across from Mr. Something To Do, thinking, “I am way too interesting for you.” This thought didn’t come from a feeling of superiority. Just incompatibility. I animatedly talked about my career and all my other interests, and he named cities that he did bike races in this summer.

But we kept the conversation going for an hour until he had to run meet up with his friends for a movie. And as I walked home I found myself trying to convince myself that he was worth dating. “He would be fine to date in the short-term. He’s nice! Maybe we could just do a lot of activities together instead of focusing so much on the talking. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s not crazy, so he’s go that going for him.”

It was just loneliness talking. It’s ironic how loneliness can feel like a presence, one that I definitely felt that night, alone in my apartment, as I made dinner for one and went to bed. Some nights are just like that, where hanging somewhere in the air is the constant reminder that no one is there. Despite all my efforts at meeting people and all the positivity I can muster as I work my way through the dating scene, loneliness followed me into my apartment to sit and my dinner table and say, “You’re eating dinner alone again.”

So what did I do? I ate dinner. I went to bed. I went to work. I went to the farmers market. I hung out with friends over the weekend. I just held on until loneliness went off in search of something better to do.

And it did. It always does. I don’t think the point is to keep from being lonely, and I’m not convinced that even in the right relationship I won’t feel lonely from time to time. I think the point is to not make any dumb decisions while lonely, but ride it out until I have a better perspective.

So sorry, Mr. Something To Do, but I’m having dinner alone tonight.