Who wants to know about my recent date? 🥳

I may as well start at the very end: there is not going to be a second date.

On paper it looked like it should’ve been a good date, and in many ways it was. Good looks with nothing overtly contraband or botoxy about them, close to my age yet younger, as common decency dictates, smart but not solipsistic or batshit crazy neokantian, she was perfect! I’d sort taken the initiative but didn’t want overplay my hand. So I turned it into what I’d refer to as a green tea date, no booze, drugs or innuendo. A mild, autumny affair centred around coffee and cake for the lady and overpriced designer beer for the humper-to-be.

Problems began 10 minutes prior to her arrival. I don’t mind being punctual, so as I sat there I hear these slow, loutish steps behind me, and assuming the best I turned only to see this misshapen figure cumbersomely walking towards me as if dragging a chain and ball. She didn’t look at all like my date, whom I’d met before. It wasn’t her, but for some bizarre reason I’ll never fathom I immediately decided: “It’s her, no two ways about it”. It was like muttering as you see the Titanic embarking on her maiden voyage “nothing will ever be able to sink this ship”. I knew it couldn’t be right, but for several seconds the belief persisted. I finally managed to shake off the belief only to find that now I believed that she was, literally, a spy, a cold war spy, To my credit she was wearing this perfectly ridiculous mackintosh, as if leaning over a bridge in Vienna or Budapest, so I concluded she had been sent by my date to deliver a secret message.

The date proper proceeded more or less as planned. I allowed her to do most of the talking, which I’ve found, after many tribulations with the loquacious sex, is the surest way to a woman’s heart. I’m very good at feigning interest, smiling and nodding in the right places, even daring sometimes to ask moderately leading questions in order to spurn her on. She does strain my patience though with her endless dog chatter. At some point I did seriously consider canicide but I quickly realised that was no way of getting into her knickers. As we lied down on the local beach, increasingly despairing of her voice, this infernal disembodied machine, I briefly travel to the future, all I had to do was look intensely into the sky blue -the metaphysical reverse of the blue sky- and allow the tunelling effect to do the rest. On my return I find myself in the middle of a familiar conversation, already in my past. I continue to be plagued by micro-psychotic episodes -including a brief Truman delusion experience- and violent intrusive thoughts until we part ways. She seemed ready for more. I will keep replying to her messages for as long as she feels the need to write, but never again.

I was expecting more of myself. Despite retaining some of my old courting skills I no longer have the emotional and psychological resources required for something so hard, stressful, and ultimately pointless as dating. Sex sure, especially as we hand in hand walk moonwards into a perfect drunken stupor, but romance and monogamy… not a happy ending, sorry guys.

PS. I’ve not embellished the experiences described above. Would you describe them as being ‘psychotic’ or just the normal result of stress?

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Interesting write-up to say the least!! So it wasn’t the best first date. Usually it happens. The first date seems fun but not worth repeating. Is how I oftentimes felt on first dates.

Psychosis. I was thinking it at the beginning maybe but then at the end I just thought it was great writing and pure process. But not necessarily psychosis no.

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Ha, thanks, but I did describe my beliefs at that event, including the time-travelling. I had to sort of shake my head to ground myself. But I think I’m through with dates, too hard

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Lol you briefly travel to the future. I thought it was an art, an image. That time is always going forward. Yeah you describe these delusions too but you don’t seem overly psychotic in your elegant prose. But I guess those delusions would be psychosis if you were to say. Lol. But I enjoyed reading this :open_book:

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Oh, i know your troubles. Dating is hard work.

But a nice looking spy in a Macintosh is just my style, get a second date and i will be you standin or a contraspionage spy sent from your side of reality, just to tell you the truth about the solidity, corporeality of the real after the date

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@bluebutterfly I didn’t think of the exhibitionist angle, which would have been a more reasonable inference. Imagine the former spy opening her mackintosh with theatrical gesture and dancing an old striptease routine as her body becomes a musical instrument itself.

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You’re a good writer, I enjoyed reading this, do you write often?

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Every day! They say practice makes perfect, but it’s not true. :cat:

Fun to read. Are you even esl? I guessed you were another Finnish member.

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Esl=English as a second language? I’m British but I currently live in Denmark.

Hi yes English as a second language. Do you think the Brits have a better grasp of English than Americans? Seems like they always take the witty roles in movies.

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No, language is what ordinary speakers make of it. American English, or for that matter Australian or even Indian English is extremely rich.

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