So, I am missing my deadline even as I sit here and type. I have conservatively decided not to include several instances of backsliding, a surreal elevator ride, a terrifying Chinese massage or an extended conversation in Whole Foods with a bearded man about parsley’s effect on my colon as “dates.” I thought maybe I had a date last week but I think when the first thing someone says to you at dinner is “so, I need some advice about a woman” and you immediately realize that the woman is not you; well, it’s definitely not a date. This did not, however, stop me from letting him buy me dinner because, petulance.

I am actively missing my deadline, and possibly I am okay with that. I asked a friend last week if she thought it was okay for me to be trying to date when I am clearly not over it, and she shrugged and said “who cares, they do it to us all the time.” Which is so true and so wise and so sad I ordered another glass of wine. Probably, I would have ordered another glass of wine anyway, but I really earned it with that one.

I have never claimed to be a smooth talker, and I generally need alcohol before I can converse with the normals. I am often reminded of the comedian Mike Birbiglia’s tagline of “What I should have said was nothing.” Earlier today I was in line to check out at Target. A guy came up behind me who seemed sort of cute and single. I made eye contact, hopefully not weirdly, and he smiled. He made a little small talk like a human being and then put his stuff up on the belt. I looked down, noted that he was buying Resolve, Febreze and sponges and said what any normal person would. “Wow, something really smells bad at your house!” This is what I mean.