Venting...

I am frustrated.

Very, VERY frustrated.

And yes, this has everything to do with The Guy, who for the time being is being renamed Mr. Inscrutable, because that is exactly what he is... fucking inscrutable.

My egg donation retrieval was last week--and I'll tell you all about that interesting process and the bitch of a recovery period at a later date--but my hormones are clearly still finding their way back into balance, albeit very, VERY slowly. Exaggerated emotional responses seem to be the order of the day (I thought I was going to kill people at work last night, moreso than usual), which is making this whole situation even tougher to deal with because I keep asking myself: Would I be such a mess if my hormones weren't still out of whack?

Who am I kidding? Of course I would. But for the moment let's just blame the hormones, okay? Thanks.

Anyway, some background.

As I was putting the finishing touches on my somewhat angsty post about the difficulties of dating as an adult, Mr. I and I began a text message conversation (instigated by him) which started out as fluff but lasted--with a few breaks--until about 1:00 in the morning. During the course of that conversation we came to the conclusion that we a.) liked each other, b.) would like to get to know each other better, and c.) would like to make out as soon as possible.

Considering that this was pretty much what I'd asked for in the post I'd just finished writing, I could have danced for joy. If I'd known that I could get what I wanted simply by putting it out there for the universe to hear, I would have been far more vocal in my desire for, oh, a winning lottery ticket, or freedom from student loan debt.

In lieu of those things, however, I now put this to the universe: I want to know what the fuck is going on in his head! NOW! Even if it's not what I want to hear--though that would be really great, of course--I just want to fucking KNOW. Because I can't read him. At all. And it's driving me bonkers.

A few days after that text message conversation, we went to his place after a rehearsal, ostensibly to watch a movie, but really we engaged in some thoroughly PG (bordering on PG-13, but still pretty damned chaste) activities, and just generally snuggled and enjoyed one another's company.

It was lovely.

It was also over a week ago, with no sign of it ever being repeated.

I tried to get him to see me last weekend, but failed. Since then I'm not even sure how to broach the subject because I'm not sure if it's welcome. I can't even figure out if I'm allowed to casually text him when I'm bored, like I want to do. I only see him at rehearsal under the watchful (or, at the very least, observant) eyes of the rest of the cast and other various and sundry people, and he's... distant. He doesn't flirt like he used to. Today I actually managed to ride the subway with him without anyone else present, but it still seemed... weird.

The chemistry is still undeniably there, even if it only comes out when we're on stage together.

Now, he made a comment, on that fateful evening, about how he tried not to date people he was working with, and so we'd "have to wait." I half jokingly responded "And until then we're just... what? Fooling around?" His response, after a pause, was "What are we doing?" which, admittedly, threw me for a loop as well, being that it was only the first time we'd been alone together. After a moment I said, "I think it's a little early to be having a 'state of the union' conversation, don't you?" He agreed, we both relaxed, and the moment passed...

But it begs the question: Is that what is going on? Is this "waiting"? Now, it seems to me that the moment for waiting passed somewhere in the several hours I spent in his lap (PG people! PG!!), but still... if that's the case, okay. Fine. I can be patient (stop laughing) if I know what I'm waiting for. It's the not knowing that's killing me. I thought I had a sense of where we were, and now I am... lost.

Now, I am not a member of this particular theatre company, and he is. I get the feeling that the rumor-mill operates at lightening speed and perhaps he's just keeping his distance around the theatre to avoid being the subject of gossip. Fair enough. I just want to KNOW.

Or maybe he's just a jerk.

But he'd have to be a pretty stupid jerk to put so much effort into wooing a girl who'd already thrown herself at him if all he was after was a roll in the hay, so I'm inclined to believe that his attentions were genuine. Just call me an optimist.

Add into the mix the fact that, as my hormones take the long way back to normal, the horniness has returned a thousandfold (did I mention I've seem him in spandex that left very little to the imagination?), and all emotional turmoil aside, I would like to get him alone and naked at the earliest available opportunity, well...

Phew.

Sorry, what was I talking about? I was still thinking about the spandex.

Damnit.

My head is a fucking mess.

The show opens in a few days. As of this moment I am going to see him every. fucking. day. for quite some time. I would prefer for that to be something to look forward to, as opposed to a source of emotional and sexual frustration.

So, there. I'm putting it out there. I just hope the universe is paying attention.