I uninstalled the apps after meeting Susan, my one remaining Tinder match.

Susan and I met at a bar semi-full of families and delightfully weird patrons with their dogs. She drank a couple Jack-and-Cokes. I drank a few stout beers.

We talked until she had to run home to take her 11yo dog out for a walk and a piss.

The ease with which we conversed, the shared nostalgia, the reciprocal curiosity, the absolute absence of effort to keep things going, holy shit, my insides lit up like a California wildfire. And jfc, she didn’t just look better than her pictures, she looked like everything I’d want a partner to look like. I mean, Wayne’s World caliber shwing.

If I were me from 20 years ago, I would have proposed after 20 minutes.

I probably came close to that after she texted me post-date, thereby giving me her number, which is a thing she guards.

I may have screwed up in texting back too enthusiastically, telling her I deleted the apps, asking when can I see her again, and telling her I could have closed the place out with her, and that I was enamored.

I probably did. But the jury’s out on that until a couple days from now, meaning if she either tells me I screwed up or just ignores me until Monday, I’ll know to give up hope.

So now I’m drinking wine, listening to Carole King¹, messaging anyone but Susan who might respond to me about how fucking crazy I am because how else do I keep from spamming her with love texts²?

ADHD hyper-focus is not only real, it’s almost always self-sabotage. I assume a neurotypical, single, 40yo person would send a couple friendly, strategically minimal messages, start planning a next date, then move on. But I am not that. I am a self-saboteur.

Also, fuck, I’ve been through so much relational trauma, other trauma, and so goddamn much therapy, that I need very little time to assess a person. Susan is even better than she presents herself as, and I am so ready to figure out a relationship with her, to do whatever work is required, but there’s little chance she’s same page with me on that, because it’s lunacy.

To Susan, I’m probably still a stranger that she had a nice time with, nice enough to share her number. This is perfectly rational. But I am not perfectly, or at all, rational.

Whatever happens, those apps are staying uninstalled for the foreseeable future. I’ll still try to meet people if Susan and me are at a dead end. But I’ll try different tacks. These apps aren’t all bad, but they’re more a burden than a boon to me.

It’s been four hours since we parted ways and I still feel the internal flames. I assure you, dear reader, this is not indigestion.

I really fucking hope I hear from her.

For now, I have Carole King, and other records, and friends who are too busy to promptly respond to my desperate messages. Whether sleep will aid me is doubtful, but we’ll see.

UPDATE (2023/02/26): I definitely made mistakes. I should not have told her I was enamored, at least. But also, fuck that. I was, and am, enamored. If she doesn’t like that then she doesn’t like me and that’s all we need to know. I need to learn to not feel apologetic for expressing my thoughts and feelings.

Susan did text back today. It wasn’t a, “never want to see you again,” but it wasn’t a, “excited to see you again,” either. It was closer to the former than the latter. Maybe she’ll hang out with me again, but not for at least two weeks, based on what she sent me.

Regardless, day 1 of no dating apps since I installed them five-ish weeks ago was pretty good. Five weeks of being on, trying to be honest but also showcase the best of me, reading between the lines of matches’ messages, and reading dates’ faces and body language as they do their best to either win me over or to not hurt my feelings, exhausted me and drained me of energy, time, and money.

Being alone isn’t bad at all. I just need to get an Apple Watch or something, something that would alert people if I have a stroke and/or fall in the shower.

1. “Tapestry”, 1979
2. lexts? loxts?