The universe really is out here listening, huh? Following my writing about wanting to dip my toes back into the pool of dating and having crushes, I had therapy and talked about it more in-depth there. She asked me why I felt ready now, and I told her it was because I’d finally begun to feel stable with other facets of my life. I also was very honest in saying I’m bored romantically, and I think I deserve a bit of fun.

“As long as you’re not out here trying to kiss your friends and then date them, I support this.” It’s not like my therapist said anything I hadn’t done before, but it still didn’t make me feel good about myself. I told her I would be sure to steer clear of repeating behaviors that ended up giving less than ideal outcomes. I finished our conversation by telling her about my writing to former lovers and she was not a fan of that. At least, I’m assuming she wasn’t a fan of it because she recommended I write letters to my mom instead. She figured it would be a better use of my time, especially considering my wanting to date again. “I don’t see how writing to people you used to love or date could benefit you with trying to move forward in dating. It’s almost like having one foot stuck in the past while trying to walk forward.” She made a good point.

The following day, midweek, was the monthly open mic I go to. This time around though, I actually read a few poems. I signed up truly on a whim and wrote something new to read followed by a couple of ones I’d written earlier this year. It felt good to share my feelings and be so present to experience the audience’s reaction to my words.

After my therapy session on Tuesday, I went to the laundromat and wrote a poem. It was about my experience in the session I’d just had. It was cool to be able to pull from the feelings I had and create something others could then relate to. I read the poem in front of so many people I didn’t know on Wednesday night and was surprised when someone came up to me and talked to me about my performance. I can’t express how validating it was to be approached by a stranger and be told that my cadence was great and that my ability to use words in ways people can relate to without coming across as boring or ordinary was refreshing. I went home feeling warm and accomplished, and very very proud of myself.

Over the weekend, I randomly caught a movie with one of my good friends. We had a Dyke Night and decided going to the city’s queer neighborhood seemed fitting after the movie was over. The bar we were planning on going to was still a restaurant (it flips at some point in the night, it was only 9 pm when our ride brought us to the building) so I decided to take us to this grungy little dive bar down the street. Two shots and three beers each later, we stumbled across another friend of ours and decided to follow them to their next venue.

I walk into the bar that’s large enough to hold a dance floor in the center of it and make my way to get a drink. It was as I waited in the line that I turned and saw this blonde with a baseball cap looking directly at me. She was sitting atop a half wall, long legs draped in front of her. I met her gaze for a while when I eventually turned to my friend to confirm that what I felt was happening, was in fact happening. They confirmed it, “Yeah, she’s absolutely staring at you. Also, what do you want to drink?”

They pass me water and I make my way to her. Truth be told, I don’t remember what I said, but I made sure to wedge my way between her legs to make sure she heard what was coming out of my mouth. Before leaving to find my friends, I put my number in her phone and texted myself.

“Come see me before you leave, yeah?” She said.

I tapped her jawline with my index finger twice and said, “We’ll see.”

Of course, I made sure to see her before I left. I did more than that, too. My god. I stayed in that god-forsaken bar until four in the morning. I don’t know how much time we spent making out in the middle of the bar, but it felt like only a minute or two.

We sat on the curb outside to get some air, when I realized I was well on my way to doing what I said I wasn’t going to do earlier in the night: stay out until five in the morning. I ordered my car and she ordered one for herself.

We texted each other from our separate beds the next day, learning more about each other.

I can hear my therapist from our last session, “Remember to go slow when doing this, Jen.”

Right, right.

Until next time.