I took my not-so-broken heart to another bar to try out my challenge for this week.
The barometer for my heart status, to my surprise, was that I didn’t care about A’s newest Facebook photo (A is for, you know). Okay, I take that back, it’s not his fault that he finds me boring, or whatever he thought.
Maybe it’s mine, or at least in part. After A went back to the really boring state where he lives (it’s not New York or California, let’s say), I realized that I wasn’t exactly having fun reading books all of the time to avoid life.
So to defibrillate my heart, I went to a bar a week or so ago. The handsome man that I wanted to approach me didn’t, though plenty of drunks did. I went to another bar on Friday night, researched the premises for top handsome man and passed by my chance for conversation when he stood next to me at the bar top to order a draft.
I did my usual self-talk of, oh he probably has a girlfriend, or he’ll think I’m boring (see Mr. A above), or I won’t be his type. The rejection will be just awful, and I’ll have to put my face on some wall of rejected women of shame.
Over the course of an hour, I saw him with guys a few times, and then with a woman, and I did the mental self-kick for letting another opportunity pass me by. Not that I expected this handsome unknown to become my next drool, because I was in a bar after all. I’m just disappointed that even with the excuse of my blog to go ahead and do something outside of my shy zone, I couldn’t find the courage to do it.
I’ll have to try again.
But I don’t want to keep going to the bars, particularly by myself.
For one, I like to be in bed by 10 or 11. Plus, I don’t like what alcohol does the next morning. Granted that on Friday, I had my one drink, scanned the room, talked to a few people I know from my job as a reporter and slinked across the street back to my apartment.
So my challenge for next week is to do that one thing I want without the inner negative dialogue preventing me from taking action.