Forbidden Tingles

I would die of mortified embarrassment if the Tinder guy found this journal. I sound like a school girl and he's a college professor but boy does he make tingles in my stomach and other places. Which scares me a little bit because Lawrence did that...Lawrence of the great love affair of '17. That's 2017, not 1917.

I have no business getting tingles about anyone. I forbid it. I forbid it so much I shan't talk to him tomorrow. This is silly.

So what if he and I talked twice today and I was never bored and he sent another pic and he's even cuter than I thought and he wrote two books and I want to lick his brain it's so cute and gorgeous and omlord I heard his voice and I want to listen to it all the time. I'm resisting the urge to get my phone out and listen the recording of his voice again.

My fondest, perhaps I shouldn't be admitting this after TWO days of talking to a guy I met on Tinder...but my fondest wish is that I look back on this as the start of finding my person. But truthfully I might look back on this blog and barely register this guy as a blip on my radar in a year or two or five. That's life isn't it. Or that's me.

My therapist would say we meet who we meet when we are suppose to meet them but that takes away my agency. The truth is that we decide. We make decisions. I could have not contacted him today. I could not contact him tomorrow. I could hate him in a week. I'm in charge. This is not some whim of fate or design. I will decide who remains in my life (as long as they want to) and who goes (whether they want to or not).

He said he was a bit of a political guru. Maybe I should google his books...