proof it wasn't just the whiskey (or, rebound schmebound)

Against (what I thought was) my better judgment, I finally returned the phone call of the man I met last week after three days of fabricating excuses why I couldn’t. Fortunately, my failure to respond in a timely fashion was readily forgiven, and we made plans to meet up this past Thursday for a meal.

I was uncertain in my expectations for the encounter, as my memory of A. was admittedly clouded by the whiskey and wine I’d consumed that first night. But before we even ordered drinks, my hesitancy dissipated, all anxiety appeased by the ease with which the conversation commenced. And continued for hours.

Divulging too many details might spoil it somehow. So I won’t. Except to say it was awesome, a surprisingly enjoyable evening offering essential perspective to a perpetually exhausted emotional idiot (read: me).