2020 dating sucks

Even before the pandemic, dating sucked. No one knows what they want. It's like everyone is that guy at the front of the line who waits until the last second to think about his order. Even before we donned face masks to the grocery store, dating sucked. Questions felt like an imposition and inquisition. "Oh you like to travel too, that's so crazy" or "you like 'the Office'?-- shocking!" You've had that conversation countless times. Everything seems like a rerun, unenthusiastically watched before. Don't get me wrong, you've dated and had your fun. But I'm talking about that one thing people write songs about. The thing people get drunk in. That thing they go half crazy over. The thing that Etta James was talking about on Sunday. Love. I think I've found it a few times in my life. I'm not talking about the "rom com", fall-into-each-others-arm-at-first-sight, type of love. I'm talking about the staying up all night, talking, type of shit. I'm talking about the good news that you just have to share with that particular person. I'm talking about being that person for someone. I'm talking about knowing someone so well, their thoughts are telegraphed with a look. That, my friends, is special. It's the thing 50+ years of marriage is built on. That shit is going extinct. The way of the Dodo bird. The what? Exactly. How many couples do you know that are married that long?.. happily? If you know even five, I'd be shocked.

But why is dating so hard? People are more accessible now than ever. Tinder, Hinge, Plenty of Fish, Bumble, Coffee meets bagels, OkCupid-- and I'm sure some I'm forgetting-- fill up phone screens. And yet-- refer to the title. These apps make people shopping easy, but connecting, ahhhh connection, that's the trick. Its the feeling that lets us watch shows together. Fall asleep together. Cook together. Discuss future plans together. Yeah connection is the shit. When you find it, guard it with sentries and snipers on the perimeter. But you know, keep things are open. We're just "friends." Really close "friends" but "friends" nonetheless. Or at least, that's the spoken word. But yeah... connection! You see, I had that. I HAD IT! And then fucking corona virus happened. And it moved. To Nevada. Taking with it, a piece of my soul.

Fast forward to some time after a steamy visit to "Sin City." This is where I disassociate. She tells you that "we need to talk" and laughs. This is funny, because she knows you hate that specific choice of words. She's aware of this fact and is using it ironically... you know what, I'm mansplaining and you get it. You laugh. What happens next is a little hazy but stick with it. She tells you she's talking to this guy. You feel sick. You don't show that though. Never show your feelings outright. Put the walls back up. Instead make a joke. Deflect. Yeah, that's comfortable for you. That place feels like home. She says she feels terrible. This doesn't change the fact, that you no longer want this chopped cheese, you were about to eat. But you believer her. Her heart is patient and kind. Considerate to her detriment. You know she would never injure you on purpose. You're injured nevertheless. But anyway-- who is this nigga?! Foe with no face.You couldn't give a fuck what he looks like either. Some how, he's encroached on that thing you stored up in heaven like treasure. That thing that you would have moved heaven and earth for, when the occasion called. That thing that's celestial in nature and oh my-- how sweet it is! Connection. A higher sense of belonging. You offer her a rationale of why this is a pragmatic decision. Protect her, above all, you protect her. As best as you can. Best you know how. Now, you've been accused of being a good man. So act like it. You smile. She smiles. The call disconnects. You feel disconnected.

Anyway, that was this morning. They're just "talking." Why does it feel like someones torturing you then? Why can't you stop blowing your nose? It ain't the rona, I swear. And this is some rough-ass tissue paper. Cuttin' up your nose and shit. Try and get over her. That's what your brain screams. But your heart? That nigga deaf. So swipe left, left, left, right, left. March to the pussy. Like doves in the wind. Nothing a quick fuck can't solve. Right? Wrong. Little known fact, but connection is a gift. This gift is wrapped in giving a fuck. That's the part of the book Mark Manson never covered. What happens when your "fuck" goes waaaaay LEFT? You wind up with a hole in your spirit. It aches to be filled but no such solace will be found. You feel disconnected. Everything is distant. Moving in slow motion and fast forward at the same damn time. A notification flashes on the screen. At least someone just sent you a nude. Silver linings and allat. But 2020 sucks. And dating sucks. Two plus two equals, 2020 dating sucks.