dealing

Dating is a new concept to me. I hear kids these days also refer to it as "seeing each other" or even "dealing." In my tiny dating history, almost every boy I went on a date with turned into a significant relationship. In fact, in two out of my past three dating experiences, I knew the boys I was sitting across tables from would become boyfriends sooner rather than later. The talks were easy and the smiles were plenty and palms were sweaty and all I could think of were future dates and late nights and early mornings and sharing. I wanted to share everything.

Not much has changed in that regard. It's harder for me to put up walls than break them down. I want Greek Easter run-ins and late nights and early mornings and everything in between. I want the domesticity of a day running errands and cooking dinner together. I want to kiss on a streetcorner. I want ice cream walks always. I want I want I want. But it's easy to want but not so easy to achieve when you're in the midst of this confusing concept called dating. How much is too much? Should I say and do just that or should I self-edit some more? All the questions become awfully tiring and confusing and annoying.

The initial excitement that any newness brings has worn off. But the label hasn't been assigned, which is probably for the best I think sometimes. But then at other times I think I need that label because it's all I know. This in-between, this "dealing" is all too unfamiliar terrain and makes me question question over-analyze question question everything when I should be at my happiest.

He said I said his name (first and last) in my sleep last night. He said I sounded upset. I wonder what all this means. And there I go questioning again.