"What are you changing?...

Who do you think you're changing?You can't change things, we're all stuck in our ways..." Jenny Lewis.

Spoonman and I have had two stellar dates since my return. It didn’t help the impending doom that is “the talk,” despite all my hopes.

You know, “the talk.” It’s called various names such as: “defining the relationship,” “the titles talk,” “the-are-we-exclusive/committed-talk?” Whatever you call it, it’s just no fun at all to be the one that brings it up.

“Will I seem clingy?” I think to myself, “Nah, I just would like to know where we stand. Are we supposed to be seeing others? And most importantly: is another girl getting the goods? Because, yeah. It’s something that needs to be known.”

My guy friends all agree that I need to be true to myself and ask. If he’s scared off by this, it’s not right in the first place. And really, what is it going to change? Nothing. We're already into each other and stuck in our ways.

And still, the lingering knot in my stomach.

It slipped out; and honestly, I hadn’t been thinking about it. It popped into my head and somehow it made sense to ask it. Such is a drowsy mind. As soon as it came out, I KNEW the timing was not so great. As it was, we were both late for work.

Now we both have time to think about what we may or may not be getting into. I’ve not dated someone that kept my interest like this and it confuses and terrifies me at the same time, yet I am not entirely satiated with the here and now.

As Wendy states, each of us has an inner dork. There’s no denying that. Deep down, there is a core of dork and somewhere out there, there is at least one someone that can bring that out. This is why we worry about the talk; we are part worst critic and most biased fan, part weakness and part strength, part dork and part cool.

The waiting game ensues. No one is alone in feeling as if the adult life is a series of waiting rooms:

Some are waiting for their life to take off. This is also known as the “Quarter-life Crisis Room.”

Some are waiting for things to be handed to them

Us self-proclaimed dorks that are pondering “the talk” are in a dimly-lit, stuffy room, sharing a flock of seafoam-green brocade armchairs with a few others; Waiting patiently [and impatiently] for a prognosis.

And sometimes what we don’t realize is that the person we are waiting on is across the room, simultaneously biting their cuticles or also just realizing what they have.

Spoonman: you’ve just entered that room, thanks to my big mouth this morning. I am partially sorry, but mostly hopeful that you are aware I also define awesomeness as much as you do.

And if you don’t know that, perhaps this dork is better suited for another.