The Artist

Funny how I should be filling out my scholarship applications, as their deadlines are getting dangerously close, too close for my liking, but I am simply sitting here, refusing to adhere to schedules and time constraints. Also known as, procrastinating.

Next week I am off to Philadelphia to visit my fam, and the week after next - it's Harvard, for a symposium where I am supposed to represent one of my school's organizations. I need this. Travel helps me clear my head and calm my heart. I would travel all the time if I could. But I suppose I should be grateful, not restless - this year I am traveling to more new places than ever before. Let's hope this trend continues.

Though content about my professional and social life, I AM, however, deeply concerned when it comes to matter of my heart, hence my urgency of trying to get away from Cincinnati for a bit. Not that I am trying to dilute myself with notions that I can get away from my own emotions, feelings that are ever so persistent in my head, twirling around, disturbing my peace.

The PDA Guy, a bunch of my friends and I went out this weekend to an Italian restaurant downtown to indulge in pasta and chicken parmesan and various other culinary creations. After dinner I asked him, as we were walking back to my car:

"So are you coming out with us to the wine cellar? We're all going in an hour or two, and you should join us."

"You know... I hate to be a party pooper, but I am just a little tired from all the overtime this week. I am thinking about going to bed around midnight..." he said, and squeezed my hand, as if reassuring me that he's not simply bailing on me.

"Well, all right. I can understand that, but... if I get done early, do you want to hang out for a bit?" I was hoping he'd get my hint that I was really asking him if I could come over to cuddle and have sex with him.

"Sorry, I am just gonna go to bed early. I will definitely call you and we'll hang out at least a few times before you go away to Philly."

He sounded sincere and I believed him. I dropped him off at his place and drove down to the wine cellar to meet up with a bunch of my friends who already cracked open a few bottles of wines.

My friends brought other people with them, mostly strangers to me. As the wine kept flowing, and everyone began to unwind, I found myself talking to a couple of people I didn't know. One of those people was the Artist.

I've met the Artist before, during my first introduction of the PDA Guy to my circle of friends just a week ago. The Artist went out with all of us that night but we haven't really talked that much then, as I was preoccupied talking to the PDA Guy and the Artist was sitting all the way at the other end of our incredibly long table.

This night I, however, found myself standing right next to the Artist and him, his best friend and I talked about his girl troubles. Just about then it hit me like a rock. The Artist was gorgeous. Gorgeous and smart and aaaaahhh!!! What the hell?! How did I let my thought spin out of control when he is not the person I should be fantasizing about?

Later on that night, we all, including the Artist and I, went back to my friend's place to play some poker. As it got later and later, we all lost a track of time and it was time to call it a night. Or an early morning, as it was getting close to being 5am.

"I guess I'll start walking back to my place," the Artist said, looking up at the clock.

"I could give you a ride," I noted casually. "LET ME GIVE YOU A RIDE! IT'S NO TROUBLE AT ALL!!" was what I wanted to scream.

I drove him around the block. He lived surprisingly close to my friend's house and as I pulled my car up at his front door, I seriously toyed with the idea of asking the Artist for his number.

"Blah blah blah, blah blah. Blah," the Artist said. I can't recall what his words were to save my life. I was too distracted by his gorgeousness. His number, his number, I want his number now!

"...Yeah. I'll see you around, I'm sure," I mumbled, trying to hide my disappointment, because deep inside, the wicked part of me wanted him to lean in and kiss me. He didn't but I probably would have kissed him back if he laid those sexy lips on mine.

Now I know what I need to do. I need to forget about the Artist, right? The problem is, can I actually make myself do that or am I enjoying my fantasies about him a little too much?