“I sorta forgot to mention. You looked really nice last night.”
He said it.
Too bad I’m incapable of responding to these things in any meaningful way.
I’m just like, “Oh, you mean after Stacey did my hair and you were busting out laughing on the couch?”
“Haha, no, before that, your hair actually looked pretty great.”
I tried to compliment him in some similar way. But the truth is, I spent most of the night staring at the ground or his guitar avoiding all attempts to look directly at him. I didn’t want him to think I was a creep. I think it may have made me a creep….
He didn’t respond to my attempted compliment for a while.
Moments of silence make me terrified that he somehow he’s found my secret blog that is basically direct accounts of our conversations from less than twenty-four hours ago, with the only difference being ridiculously fake names (Stacey? Seriously? Was Barbie there too?). He’s found them and now he realizes how obsessed I am, and he’s freaked out and never wants to talk to me again.
I wonder if that would be a valid complaint.
Hey, I’d just be journaling this otherwise. Journaling’s not creepy.
Is it more or less creepy to post the personal details of your life on the internet?
Anyway…he complimented me. Then he read my vague compliment and we’ve been chatting back and forth for a bit. With enough long pauses for me to start writing this post.
It’s better than chewing my finger nails in anticipation and nervousness. Right?
Okay, I have to go stare at that chat box and wonder when he’s going to respond.