Last night, I had my first "real" date since I was seventeen. It was strange. First of all, I hadn't known it would be a date to begin with. A friend of mine asked me to see "Elizabeth" with him (good movie-wise, but somewhat historically inaccurate, as I expected) last night and I decided to drive to Staunton to see the movie with him. I had a sneaking suspicion it might be a date, but this wasn't confirmed until he slid his fingers over mine on the armrest between us. I let him.
We walked around Staunton until three am, which was nice but also odd. I hadn't realized so much time had passed until he looked at his watch and realized he had to work the next morning. (Luckily, I don't work until 4pm today.) It was...nice. But surreal, you know? I'm not used to dating anymore. We were walking through the Episcopal churchyard when he tried to kiss me - this, I did not let him do. The mood was right, and the moment was right, and whatever it was he said directly beforehand (I can't remember for the life of me) was right, but something in me said not to - and for the first time, I listened to that something and I'm glad I did.
He wants to do this again. I am... undecided. Lately I have been longing for something more in my life, but I'm not sure he's it. Ironic that this happens as soon as I finish discussing with Phipps my lack of love life - and my wish to get involved with somebody not in theatre. Theatre eats your soul and your life, and it's best to keep romance out of the theatre as much as possible. But I remain undecided. After all, perhaps I should just keep in practice?
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