Love Hurts, And Sometimes Steals Your Tea

Even my dreams have begun to sadden me. Last night I was dreaming about meeting a guy in some sort of meet-cute situation in an apartment. For most of you, normal, happy people, the next part of the dream would have involved some sexy adventures of at least Cinemax standards. However, I dreamed I went to his apartment the next day, only to find the loose tea he had stolen from my apartment. It was all there- the Earl Grey, the genmaicha, the rooibos, the bougie green tea with the little fruity bits in it. There was a confrontation, dramatic tears were shed, doors were slammed, he admitted that he had a compulsion and I gave him the ultimatum that "I'll only see you if you get heeeeelllllp!"

It was kind of like an episode of Intervention, crossbred with a Lifetime movie of the week and sponsored by Tetley.

I woke up remembering the "green tea with the little fruity bits" detail distinctly, and the rest of the dream with some concern. Really, if my dream guy is a tea-hording klepto, and not a bare-chested English 19th century lord with suspiciously good dental work and a disdain for the social conventions of his time, my real-life prospects have got to be depressing. Which reminded me of a recent conversation I had with a friend, where I confidently promised to "work harder at, you know, that whole aspect... of life" once I found a job in Toronto and moved there.

Really, that was just a way of buying time, and even that looms oppressively in my future. My anxiety was not helped by a post on a Toronto city blog that offered a glimpse into that very future. It was about a singles event with an ugly sweater theme, held at a bar with an awkwardly long name. That kind of name is usually a good indication that it will house equally (and endearingly) awkward men, so at first I was all like "Whoah, I could get a head start on my vow!!", then was more "That bar name is actually mildly annoying" and finally: "I would likely want to burn down that bar and the be-sweatered men it contains, mostly out of misdirected self-loathing, but also because of drunkenness."

So, now that I've saved myself the trouble of finding an embroidered cat sweater at Value Village, I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't also save myself from this doomed vow. Some people are good at dating- I'm not one of them. Some people are good at learning how to be good at dating- I'm not one of those either. I don't even know how to blow dry my hair. My temporary conclusion is that, yep, I'm still planning to move to Toronto, and if nothing works out in the suitor department, that's fine. But if something does work out, that's fine too. I'll just have to remember to keep an eye on my Elf Help (organic) tea, and put out the Lipton as decoys.