Date Four

This was about two weeks ago now, but date four was pretty good. We met in Princeton again, the Witherspoon Grill. She was more done up, which surprised me, but wasn't bad. She did look beautiful, and I was glad she didn't overdo the makeup, because I usually prefer none.

Most of this date was conversational. On our other dates we were either walking/browsing or in a theater. Not that we didn't talk a lot, but it was nice to see that we were still into the experience deeply when we didn't have something specific to comment on. They even brought out candles, which was sweet. She has a gorgeous, unusual smile--I call it a landscape smile because of the art connection--which I'd say is broad. Very attractive. Her face is sort of narrow and her eyes are long, too; she calls them almond-shaped. It's an usual and really beautiful combination, which was as picturesque as you could imagine with the soft candles and her dark, straight hair seeming to flood down into the floor and the walls and the background.

Our goodbye kiss was also really nice, though too short (the train was waiting). And that's when I gave her a little card I wrote, with a poem.

I don't have a lot to say about this date and have let it sit comfortably in my brain. I'm not sure why. I can replay memories and experiences so easily, sometimes I'm really content to do that and never speak of them (I can be intensely private). I like tiny details too. I've never been one for monuments or gift shops. I'd rather see an abandoned, collapsing barn than Mount Rushmore (which confuses my family to no end). One says something about the place I live in and one says something about how people want me to see the place I live in. And I'm always trying to escape from this world while finding a place in it. I could give a play by play of that night--I listened to Red House Painters on the drive; parking was about $3; I finally beat her to the location; she called it our "date date" and talked about Boy Meets World, Gilmore Girls, and Buffy; I pissed off a rude girl while turning onto Spring St.; Amy ordered a salad and clams, then we got cheese cake; the waiter's name was Maurice and the service was almost too quick; the bathroom had tissues and papertowels--but in a way it's better as a movie in my head. See, I started this blog with a few objectives. I was extremely depressed--coming out of a 2 or 3-year depression--and needed to vent. I haven't updated much recently, because almost all that fear has subsided. I also thought it would be fun to try a sort of biographical experiment. This is pretentious, but I still like it: what if you were going to write a memoir, but threw in journal and diary entries from throughout your life? I could comment on my parents' divorce at age 65 and look at what I thought at age 21, 30, 44, for example. Most memoirs are very dull because they gloss over everything and tend to offer one perspective, not the picture of a life as it evolved. I also wanted to put up writing and say, "I put this detail in because it comes from this experience." Hence, The Roadmap. Now that I feel more alive, I have a little less of that compulsive urge to capture, I guess. Part of me likes the idea of portraying my life my way, especially because my family has always kind of tried boxing me in, stereotyping, and second guessing me. I've been told what I like, what I think, and what I am like more than I can count. But, at the same time, who cares? I also tend to reject a lot of my generation's compulsion toward documenting every little thing. I don't own a camera or use MySpace. Anyway, I have no real definitive answer here. I'll keep posting, and as I've loosened up I understand more why people feel the need to capture all this stuff, even if I don't take part. It's just, I can picture us walking out of the restaurant while I held the big doors, with her joking about how it's sometimes awkward when people hold doors for you, and I can still see the sunset. So I'm there, now, two weeks ago. I don't need the picture and a streaming Mp3 to go with it. That sounds negative. I had a great time and like writing about it. I guess I'm just kind of floating now, instead of feeling adrift. Floating is a good thing. You never know where you're going in life or who you are, but you can have the intuition to know you're going in the right direction, which I spent the past few years working toward. That's where the dream analysis, in particular, has come in handy. It's good to have the right mirrors. Anyway...

Hopefully I will see this lovely person again soon. I think the hardest part is she has a really distinctive, alluring smell, which I can never quite get out of my head. So the memories are very there.