I broke up with my steady fellow of two years last summer. The relationship itself took an emotional toll on me, but the breakup . . . not so much. As much as I love my ex and wish him happiness, it felt so fucking good not to be dealing with his issues on the daily. I jumped right back into dating—casual stuff. Nice dinners and sexytimes with respectable parties. I got all productive with my own stuff. I started realizing that I was much happier single. I met partners I liked, but felt no all-consuming draw toward any of them, you know? And I was okay with that—I'm happy and I'm doing the very things that I want to be doing with my life, and loving almost every second of it—but it did make me wonder . . . was I ever going to feel that way about someone else again?

My last three serious relationships—each of them lasting more than a year—were with men who had some pretty heavy depression issues. They would not do a thing to help themselves, and they could not be bothered a lot of the time with my feelings. That's just how the beast of depression works, I know, but the last one really did me in. I threw everything I had at it. By the end I felt so defeated and mistreated, like I'd thrown two years of the most genuine, potent, sincere love I had into a black hole. To add insult to injury, cue the immediate post-breakup apologies. The pleas for one more chance. The unending display of flowers and hugs and love notes—Behold! Here are all the things I've been withholding from you all along! It outraged me. It tempted me. Until I saw how he was dealing with various pitfalls life was throwing at him (the universe seriously won't give this guy a break). I guarantee he still hasn't picked up the phone to call a therapist. Even after the caveat at the close of our first brief breakup, mid-relationship: "You get like that again, then you get help. Or I am done for good next time." He didn't follow through. He still hasn't, and he had the nerve to think that wouldn't matter to me while he was asking me to come back? God it just makes me so mad. So I followed through. I finally told him I was done for good this time. You fucking blew it, man. I'd never say that to his face, but ugh, he fucking blew it. And I do not feel bad for being done.

So there's that. And there's me wondering if I could ever allow myself to give a shit that hard about someone ever again. Or realistically expect a lover to give a shit about me for any sustainable length of time. I decided not to question it. I'd meet the right person if he or she came along. Maybe he or she never would. And I'd still be okay with that. I have a lot of people and labors of love that make me excited to get out of bed everyday. I've finally reached this point in my life where romantic love is just a perk—not an active pursuit. Hooray.

Then I message this adoooorable guy on okc last night—even turn on the chat option when I see that he's online, something I never do. I swear this wasn't forced. I have been avoiding this sort of thing because I'm hella busy with my own projects right now. But anyway, we click and it's ridiculous. I'm going out of town Saturday, and have a busy week, so I suggest "fuck it, let's meet on Valentine's Day and do something stupid. Like, the pinkest, laciest, most Valentines thing we can find. Like go to a concert at a casino. Or get a fancy dinner and then go binge watch House of Cards, because that's something you do with someone you just met. And he's all for it. Further investigation of his profile only reveals great things: GGG feminist, cat person, supporter of gay marriage, gainfully employed, polite as fuck, Mom-approved on the outside, kinky on the inside. He's like a goddamn unicorn. We've been texting, and it hasn't gotten weird—I'm an okc veteran, so I know how often guys start to get weird way too fast once they have your number.

So anyway, this could be a total clusterfuck. Maybe we won't click in person at all. But I'm excited. And hey, now I know two things: that I have not yet lost the ability to crush hard on someone right away like a 14-year-old girl, AND that I'll be just fine and dandy regardless.

At any rate . . . HOLY CRAP I can't wait til Friday. It's either going to be a good time or a great story. :)