Chrisonomicon

Saturday, June 8, 2002

He's a cop. Buzzed, blond hair. A few inches shorter than me. A year older. He has this adorably angelic smile and a shy, yet intense, demeanor. We danced for a while as I tried to sober up enough to seem relatively coherent and as we left the dance floor, my face brushed up against the back of his neck and I planted a peck right on his neckline. He turned around with a slightly surprised, yet expectant, look on his face. I simply smiled and leaned in to kiss him. "Butter" was the only thing that would come to mind.

This feeling is always new, despite experiencing it hundreds of times over with a hundred different men. I knowingly acknowledge those texts that point to the addiction this feeling inspires and wonder if I am addicted to the thrill of courtship as well, serially dating and breaking up only to continue the search again. It seems like a never-ending cycle. It's justified in my head and I don't need a reason or excuse but I feel as though I may be working so fervently to find near-to-perfection that I don't stop to consider if I'm blind to other possibilities.

That would be my wish at this point: to see the alternatives clearly and unbiased. And I do hope that this is the best of all possible worlds.