Dates

Today was a mediocre day. I could have spent it visiting area businesses to pitch my photo services to them. This has been a process long in the making and I have all my ducks in a row now; body of the proposal, masthead and footer, biz cards. Although, I've had the business cards for a little while, it took a bit organize all the rest.
Instead of wandering to area businesses and giving them my sheepish sales pitch, I went on a date. A last ditch effort before my online dating subscription expired. "That's when it happens!" one of my friends when I told them this was the last one for a while. I get a lot of that. "It happens when you aren't looking!" or "You just need to be in the right place." I get those too.
What constitutes "the right place" anyway? Not that I don't appreciate these words of encouragement, because I do, but there is a point when one just becomes speechless and all "I don't know what the fuck the problem is".

The guy I met on a date over the week-end was nice and funny and smart, but we got stuck after about an hour with nothing to say to one another. We people watched in the city square where we got ice cream and silently wondered to ourselves how we could gracefully end this date. It's not like we were in a coffee shop where one of us could say "Well, we better clear a table for the next person!". We were in park. Where there were plenty of other seats in which to sit.

Today, I met a guy for lunch. He was nice and very passionate about teaching which is what he does. I can respect his desire to tell me about it and his zero hesitation to answer any questions I might and did throw at him. But despite the fact that I gave him ample lulls in the conversation to ask me something, all I got was "So, what's your connection to FL?"
If the guy asked me out again, I would probably go. You never know, maybe he was just nervous. But, an interesting thing happened after all the listening and question-asking; even if he had asked me a question, I was tired! I had zero gusto in me to try and tell him about me. If he asked, that is.

I returned home, kind of shrugging to my parents and heading up to my room. My Dad hit the nail on the head when he came into my room to commiserate, "I'm sorry. You're not having a very good year."
While I don't completely agree. Yeah, I agree. But I mean that in the most optimistic, I'm-sure-things-will-get-better-kind of way, of course.