What would an adult do?

I know I’m supposed to report on my date last night. Here’s the old Don kind of report: it was alright. There might even be a second date if she doesn’t read this blog.

But really folks, what would an adult do? My anger is fading away and this morning when I woke up, I found myself seeing a familiar face in my dreams. Maybe I’m no closer to freedom than I was a couple days ago. More horrifying: maybe I’ll never be free.

It seems like there’s nothing I can do but the exact same thing she’s doing: plow through some unfulfilling relationships in a search for something I already had. Try to satisfy every need except love.

The thing about my tattoo is that it also means that the most impossible things can actually be true. It’s impossible to tell the true meaning. This, of course, is the most depressing meaning. And that depression is where I find myself once again this afternoon. When school is merely a couple hours from being done for the year and I’m a few days from 8 weeks of ridiculously awesome vacations and I have held the interest of a nice and attractive lady long enough for her to consider seeing me again and everything is fine except that I can’t stop dreaming about impossible things, I am not nearly as happy as I should be.

So, what would an adult do?

I have this feeling that an adult would just not care. Oh so what I am perfectly fine with whatever comes along. I used to be like that. I used to not care about anything. I wanted to believe that I could be like that again. But, as I’ve stated before, I care too much. I was watching Food, Inc. with my date last night and thinking about the fight for Kevin’s Law by the lady whose son had died six years earlier. What if I end up like that? Why is it okay for her to care so much about her son who is not coming back and to work for years on an impossible task, hoping for some tiny miracle? What is the definition of a healthy adult? Maybe they’re all as messed up as I am. As I will be.

Perhaps an adult would just forgive. It’s so hard. I’ll try it, even though she’s probably never going to read this: I forgive you. I’m sorry I couldn’t live up to your needs. I truly understand why you left now. I understand why you’re sleeping with others. I understand why you feel so lost. I forgive you for hurting me because you didn’t know there was another way. I forgive you for (happily). I forgive you for the list of things you don’t like about me. I forgive you for thinking I’m a child. I forgive you for telling me you still loved me but couldn’t be with anyone right now. I forgive you for your hand on my waist at soul night after you were making eyes at that tall guy that didn’t even notice you. I forgive you for our last hug on your stairs and our last kiss at Chunk’s house and the last time I’ll ever see you, whenever that was or will be. I can’t imagine how hard your life is and you deserve someone who treats you better than I ever could. When I commented on your secret blog and wished you luck, I meant that, even though I said it in an underhanded way. Finally, I still and probably always will…

I know that an adult would just stop talking about it, that’s for sure. Can I do that? I’d like to.

I’d also like to go on that second date. I’m sorry if you read this, Kristin, but I’m learning how to be open and honest and haven’t yet figured out when not to be. I’d like to meet a Marie LaSalle (DeSalle in the movie) or maybe someone that will convince me that I’m totally wrong about everything I believe in. I’d also like to be sane or at least appear that way. So, I’m not going to post here until I’m in San Diego. And maybe not even then. I need to stop and breathe.

I’ll post when I’m in Europe, though, because that will be awesome.