Well. Maybe that's it, then.

I met this guy on Match, let's call him Cliff, nice guy, cute, quite shy (says he has few friends in the city he's lived in for 12 years because he's shy, that kind of shy), extremely low-key. My gut has been saying No, but I've been trying to assuage the gut some, saying Who Knows, Maybe. Sometimes I do get a little excited about him. (Gotten together with him twice so far; will again this Sunday too.) I mean, it's kinda nice, sort of. But I'm finding I want to run screaming an awful lot too.

Huh, Miles Davis via the sitar on NPR right now.

Yesterday I started thinking that having been alone for so very very long must be making me skittish. Like I was actually acting like Bliss does around not-me people. Look at me, some kind of feral cat.

(Stomach is churning so unpleasantly right now.)

Then I had this dream last night. It was a Friday night. On Saturday I was to see the guy I'd met. Friday I ran into Keving, Jessica 1.0's friend and sly set-up of September '06. I was happy to see him and hang out with him; I let him lead me to a movie, sort of. Well you don't need to know all that weird dream detail about the Shakespeare and the beautiful wooden seats. He was being platonically affectionate and I was leaning into it, knowing it didn't mean anything to me -- the way you are in college with gay guy friends and straight guy friends whom you're not actually interested in, guys like Brian Rothkopf.

Anyway. Back to the dream future of Saturday night. The guy I was going to be seeing was "Jason," who looked like Jason-jason but was not in substance That Jason. He was the guy I was actually sort of seeing for real (but still not in substance). In the dream I realized how much I'd rather be with Jason. And I thought, well. There it is, then. Nice.

When I woke up and realized that the Real Life Jason-jason was actually Cliff, every part of me said "NO!!!" before I could even choose my actual reaction. And my stomach started churning.

I think I have my answer. Sure, I could still be wrong, and it would be nice to. But this is becoming so very very VERY visceral, and I have learned to listen to my viscera (see Asshole 1998-2000).

So NOW what do I do? UGH.

And let me point out that it is 7:30 and yet I am up and sitting at the computer telling you this. I've been holding off writing about this at all, all week, and I woke up Compelled.

Now to shower before I blow the earliness altogether.