Breaking the Spell (Part III)
By the way, I hope it is apparent that each of the three previous parts was about a different person. To continue the previous story:
Knowing myself as I do, I figured that I had about a week to ask her out, otherwise I would most likely spend months overanalyzing the situation and probably never do actually anything. This seemed like one of those “hot iron” type of situations, and it was important to strike while I still really did not have anything to lose. Besides, there’s no way that I would get a third chance.
Five days later, I made the call. Now, if you have ever had a serious conversation with me, you would know that if I have something important on my mind, it takes a ridiculously long time for me to work up to it. In my hesitation, I lost control of the direction of that conversation almost immediately. But I was able to get around to my point eventually. And seriously, five days is still an amazing personal record for me. (I think somebody owes me a quarter!)
“Well… I’m flattered… but no.”
WTF?
You know, I’ve thought this before, and I’m saying it now: Aren’t there, like, genocides and stuff going on out there? Shouldn’t God have better things to do than to come up with funny new ways to mess with my head? Well of course not, God is omnipresent and omnipotent.
In a sense, I was a bit relieved for her sake. For I had a turbulent sea of things going on just below the surface. It seemed almost deceitful to try and enter a new relationship when I knew that I was on the verge of exploding. Also, it’s not true that I had nothing to lose. For one thing, this was the only girl who would consistently give me a hug every time I saw her. Now I mostly just get hugs from guys. That was just poor forethought. More significantly, there was the loss of hope. For every choice made means a door closed. My long-term plan had failed. My back-up plan had failed. What now?
Curiously enough, with these two events coming so close together, I found that to truly be upset about either one meant admitting that the other did not really mean that much. And oh, by the way what was I asking her for anyway? Was it not the very fact that I had rejected dating, and was fascinated by this idea of “Christian Courtship” that lead me to church in the first place? Had I then not sold out my principals the moment I entered a relationship with that other girl, when from the very beginning we both admitted that it probably would not last? Was this not a further step in the wrong direction, asking for, essentially, a single date? Shouldn’t I therefore be directing any inquiries of this nature toward her father? Oh no. Oh haaeeell no.
So, that all pretty much sucked. But it was necessary. For the important thing is, the spell was broken. Also, did I not say before that I had plural options? Ah, and wouldn’t the next girl be positively delighted to know that she was, at least pragmatically speaking, the third choice? While I’m at it, why not just go alphabetically through every girl I know until one says yes?
So, at last, I could no longer deny: my heart is a liar. My heart is not even a consistant liar. Forget about these women. Had I not been vexed for some time by the fact that the church group seemed to have become less about God and much more about socializing and “hooking-up”? Yet what was I here doing? Why not try leading by example, numskull? Forget about these women, man, you need JESUS.