What do I do now?

A while ago I may have mentioned, a hundred times or so, that I was looking for a drummer. Well, what I neglected to say is that I found him. And at this juncture I am regretting having changed my blog from anonymous to some-people-who-know-me-know-it, cos I am in a pool of confusion and feel like naming everyone and everything.

So the new drummer is from Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic and he can play drums. We found him at 1 in the morning because I was in Darren's house and we were a bit drunk and I told him that we were going to find a drummer online RIGHT NOW and lo! there he was. For some reason all I could think was "please let him be taller than me" and he is. He is a lovely guy. So no problems there.

Thing is, I have never been someone to have to ask who I am. I know who I am, and while I may not be very proud of that (despite my writing otherwise I am sure) or very happy with it, I have a stubborn streak that says I will be the only person who changes Me. I won't let anyone or any notion change me (except if it is in the case of I was wrong and should be more fair).

So now the thing is that I seem to be hanging around with desperate women, and I am the most single of them all. Yes I talk, but realistically I rarely do anything, and I have a bit of a rep for legging it when the time is wrong. I can't deal with my feelings. I can't cope with wanting to be with someone, because I so desperately want to be a perfectly normal, strong, self-confident, independent young woman. Well I am none of that. I am a girl, not a woman. I don't think I will ever be a woman.

Anyway, so Radt and I went to the Italian cultural centre yesterday, and yes, signed up to become bona fide Italians. Well, that means I got a card for 3euro saying I can buy cheap beer there and go to shows. Although they did speak Italian to me, and I have my first class on Tuesday! However I digress.

After the dancing and music at the cultural centre, I went with Radt to a small bar near where I live, to hear him play. Sort of a band-mate moral support thing. I spent most of the night talking to a 50-something year old teacher who I fell in love with in a way, with his crooked soft mouth and limp. I have a think about limps in slim men. He was so incredibly patient with my Spanish and we discussed everything from taxes through to huts in Cuba. Radt insisted on introducing me to all his friends, which was lovely, and then even walked me home. Very good.

Today after work I met Radt again, this time to get stuff together for a song I wrote and programmed. I am tired on Saturdays, they are exhausting. We listened to lots of music, and very quickly sorted something out. I made some food, he had brought wine and food also. I insisted on making the food, you know why? Yes you do. Because I was scared of eating his food. Eat a man's food and you make him your friend. I wanted him to know that I hadn't intended for him to come and make me dinner, that this wasn't a date. I hate being walked home, I am afraid of this person.

So of course a big part of me is thinking well if you want company why the hell can't you want someone like this? He is intelligent, talented, understands you, funny, same tastes etc etc. Yes, I like him an awful lot, and he facinates me. But I am just not attracted to him. He has a beautiful mouth and dimples. But he has brown eyes like my mother and he looks like a stranger to me. Why does it matter what the hell he looks like? I am so shallow.

So we have eaten and I am trying to coax him into eating the peaches he brought - he won't because I am allergic and won't share them. He apologises. We talk, his friends phone, and phone again. I can hear them (in my mind) asking him if he is still "with his new friend". I just know...or am I just incredibly arrogant? He is laughing and smiling and inviting me to a party on the beach. I want to go and suddenly it hits me just how anxious I am. I need to do something NOW! I need to walk or make something or do a puzzle, something to stop me thinking. Get lost in my physics book. I can't think like this. I turn my back, unwilling to make it obvious I want him to leave, when 3 seconds ago I was so nice and friendly and enjoying his company. I fiddle with the laptop, picking some violin music to bleed away the tremors. And then I feel his hands on my shoulders and I freeze completely. He gently massages my shoulders and I finally pull myself together enough and turn and stare helplessly. "Relax". How can I fucking relax. But he is working on my back for real and the knots are excruciating - I used to have a friend who laughed at my back which she said was like trying to massage a wooden table. His hands feel reassuring and I find myself having strange thoughts like that maybe he is a spy trying to catch me unguarded so that he can stab me. Honestly, does anyone else regularly have these thoughts, or am I just crazy? I find myself tapping aimlessly at the laptop for a good 2 minutes before I realise how ridiculous it is. Someone massages your back, you can't pretend you didn't notice it! But it really feels good, and suddenly the urge to cry is overwhelming. He relaxes into it, and I can feel he is leaning lengthways on the couch, resting his arms off my waist. The massage is almost professional. I find myself wondering if I am just frigid and abnormally scared of men or incredibly naive for not stopping it straight away.

After a good 30 minutes I reckon, I notice the hands are focused back on the nape of my neck. He is tired. But the hands are still circling my neck and hair in that tired way, and I think: this is not a massage any longer. If he were only tired he would stop now. But he doesn't want to stop, so he is still circling my neck. My throat is tight and I can't speak. I am paralised by my fears. Why am I always touched by older men? I realise my fingers are white and pulsing due to the pressure with which I have been gripping them over the last thirty minutes. It pains me to do it, but I pull myself away from him. He sits back and I can't even look at him. "Thank you," I say, before picking up the cups from the floor and bringing them to the kitchen. I fill them with orange juice and dread the next few minutes.

Pulling myself together, I return to the sitting room. Thanks, I tell him again. He smiles and looks concerned. Is it because I am so obviously looking weird or is it that he is looking for an opening. Could it be he thinks now that I am interested in him? "I'd better go," he announces after one of those deathly pauses. I nod and then refer back to the laptop. Will I burn that song for you? I manage to loosen up and act a bit more normal and he sits down to wait. Then he laughs. "Your hair is a mess! Sorry about that!" I grin too. Again, I thank him. "Hope it helped." I nod. I was very tense. He laughs and nods emphatically. "Very tense!" Another few nods. Thank god for Tchaikovsky. I bob along for a bit and then hand him a disk. I put the songs of our band on it and some other stuff I thought he might like so that the disk wouldn't be wasted. He is pleased. "It wouldn't be a waste. Since I heard the song for the first time, I fell in love...." he realises what it sounds like..."with the music." Oh well then!

I let him out and kiss both cheeks as standard. I can see him out the window but I don't want him to see me. What the hell was that?