I went out on Thursday night. With lots of couples and coupled people. Which, in itself, was a bad idea, but when we actually took off for a bite I was with three single guys. Including Tom, as Nance and him decided that the long distance relationship wasn't working after all, and who was not as single as I thought as it appeared that he had to leave early for a date. The fact that deciding not to go on with Nance and getting a few dates including seemingly successful ones with the girl he was meeting that evening took him a little less than six weeks should have made me feel rather positive about the possibility of meeting new people, but it just made me fear the Feline would replace me so easily.

Then I met a nice physicist, a sweet guy really, but I couldn't say anything clicked at all. I actually grew rather annoyed with him at some point, mostly because he was showing not to be my kind of guy after all. I get points for meeting a new guy and get him to flash me broad smiles though, right? Right.

So I left early because I was so fed up with it all, wanted to punch the physicist in the face for not meeting my expectations (poor guy), and had a hard time refraining myself from yelling at the two lovebirds who just came back from a seemingly very successful dinner out to stop showing their happiness already.

Not a success I'm afraid.

Tonight the Fabulous Feline is out on his own. I am not because, for one, I do not feel like going out, and moreover, there is nowhere I can go to. I could have joined the guys out to some Oktoberfest partying but do I look like I would enjoy myself surrounded by old German folks, drinking pints and liters and beers, and observing everybody around me getting thoroughly pissed? I didn't think so. And I'm not really into the idea of going to a bar or a club all on my own, especially given that I don't really enjoy clubbing all that much; I'm assuming that my chances to meet, in a club, someone who doesn't like clubbing either, are rather slim. Plus, the only club I've ever appreciated around here holds rather dear Feline memories, as we almost hooked up for the first time when a group of people we were hanging out with dragged us there. (The "almost" part of that statement is solely the responsibility of this one girl who wouldn't let go of us, even when we went out of the damn club to take a walk on the moon-lit beach. "Thick" is the word you are looking for.)

It is, all in all, more satisfying and less tear inducing than witnessing other people's smooching and meeting guys who don't quite cut it for me. I cannot decide, though, whether I should keep the Fabulous Feline's pictures on my wall. It's not that much that I don't want to keep him there for now; it's more the thought that on each and every one of these, whether or not I am on the picture as well, it is at me that he is smiling, that alternatively warms or crushes my heart.

And if only I could find a way not to cry every other time we are together...