Week two, date two: nicotine patches.

I started wearing nicotine patches. I’m still smoking; that’s not the intent of using them. I’m using them because my mom swears they’re “great for inflammation”. I’m a ‘social smoker’, so not really a smoker. I’m seeing a stand-up comedian. I think I mentioned this already, but I'm not sure. No, I just checked, I didn’t mention this. I mentioned that I, myself, have started stand-up again. I spent the night at his house the night before last, and nothing happened. I just wanted to talk to him more, and I ended up falling asleep. It was an interesting night. I went on a date at 9 pm, with the doctor I mentioned in the last entry, and before the date, the comedian messaged asking me to run ideas by each other and ‘maybe a pint?’. I folded. I texted him while I was with the doctor to meet me after I was done. He knew I was on a date, and later confessed he was hoping it was going poorly but got a bit nervous when an hour and a half had gone by without hearing from me. But I met him for a few drinks and had such a good time. He’s not smooth, but he never claimed to be. He’s funny. And tall. But so is M. I’m allowing myself the pleasures of casual dating. So far, I think I’m not too bad at it, aside from a fondness for M that is a bit too strong, but there is nothing I can do about that, so I’ll leave it be. The nicotine patch may sway me to smoke less, which would be nice, but also unnecessary. Now the good stuff. I made the mistake of telling my parents the name of the doctor. From now on, they will get very little access to my private life. I woke up to 61 missed calls, texts from all ends, and fuzzy vision from my lack of contacts. They had checked my location, which pinged from a park, and spiraled. They couldn’t contact me for three hours, during which I was asleep, and assumed I was kidnapped or dead in a park. Mind you, they thought my 22-year-old date, a soon-to-be doctor, I should say, was my assailant. Having his first and last name, they attempted to contact nearly every person he has ever met. I will not be getting a second date. On the date, I did the cop out thing where you tell someone you’re “so bad at the whole first dates thing” (I’m not). But I never claimed my parents were good with my first dates. It’s a good thing I’m moving, as this is a small city. I told them I slept at my friend’s house, which wasn’t technically a lie. But what am I supposed to say, “sorry, mom and dad, went home with a different man than I went on the date with, and only fell asleep one hour before you attempted to contact me hundreds of times. By the way, thanks for emailing my date’s grandfather, thinking you were contacting his dad, who didn’t even know he was on a date, because Irish men don’t tell anyone anything. I’m sure he appreciated getting that awkward convo out of the way!”. Privacy is something I need to allow myself to feel more entitled to; trust is something I need to be stingier with. Thinking of E a little bit.