"when we got him in the boat, he measured six feet long - I was so danged impressed that I had to write a song" - Primus, 'Fish On'

Fish On

I have been camping exactly one time in my adult life. It was when I was married, and my husband (let's call my ex Slug)  and I packed up his truck with a tent, his fishing poles, and other provisions. We drove to Delaware State Park, which is about a half hour from where we lived, and rented a space for a minimal fee.
I'm not a girly girl, but I wouldn't say that I'm the outdoorsy type, either. I helped him pitch the tent ("helped", I hope you understand, is a loose term) and made sure I knew where the bathrooms were. I'd rather not squat to pee - I'm not that coordinated. I don't recall what we did to pass the time, but at some point, we decided to get our poles and go fishing.

I'd never really been fishing before. I think once, off of Myrtle Beach, I held a pole on boat some tour and tried to catch a fish. So Slug instructed me on the particulars of fishing. The man, for his dearth of knowledge, loves to tell people how to do things. He'll be like, "do you know how to make a peanut butter sandwich?" and I'm like "why yes, I certainly do" and then he's like, "well, you need two slices of bread" and I'm like "yes, I said that I knew" and he's like "but you have to use CHUNKY peanut butter" and I'm like "will you shut up? I've made a million of them" and he's like "but you need to PRESS the top piece of bread on the bottom one" and then I give up and let him finish. But for once, his over-simplification helped me out. He showed me where to stand and how to hold my pole and how to bait the hook (I let him do that one - I'm not squeamish about the worm; it's the hook piercing my skin that I'm worried about). He pontificated about being quiet and pulling the line up right as you felt a tug. And after all that explanation, I was ready! I was so pumped to catch a fish. Slug caught a couple, and then he moved me into the "sweet spot", which was apparently the place where all the hungry fish went to eat - like a fish cafeteria with a serial killer in it. And, sure enough, as soon as I dropped my hook into that little cove, I felt a tug! I squealed like a mouse with hemorrhoids and turned the little wheel thing and up came the line with a fish on it! VICTORY!!

Slug came up to me and pulled the line up, dangling the fish in front of my face. My glee turned to horror, and then regret, as I saw that poor fish in front of me. The hook had gone through his mouth and up into his eye. He twitched in horror. And I knew, when I saw it, that as much as I had thought that I had wanted this... I didn't want it at all. I wanted no part of that poor fish, no matter how much fun it had been catching him. I didn't want to take him off the hook and watch his pain that I had caused. I didn't want to clean him and cook him and eat him for dinner. If he had been put on my plate, cleaned and grilled with some lemon on top, I would have eaten him; now, looking at him this way, though, made me sick. I had Slug take the fish off the hook and throw him back, and I put down the fishing pole and sat down. I never fished again.

Fishing is exactly what I think of when I think of dating. The beginning is great. I'm holding on to that line, trying to get that fish. He's pulling one way, and I'm trying to get him over to me, and there's some ebb and flow, give and take, and it's fun. There's excitement and joy and that moment when you're sure that he's going to get away. I've been back on the dating scene for two years now, and I know that feeling. I love that feeling. I am addicted to waking up and thinking about one certain person, smiling because I know that he's thinking about me too.

But then comes the part where I actually get him. It's inevitable; I reel him in, and I look him in the eyes, and he's mine. The man I've been fishing for is finally next to me, and I can do whatever I want with him. And that's when I lose interest. Maybe I see what the game has done to him, and I become sickened. Or maybe I see him for what he is, and I realize that I didn't really want him in the first place. Sometimes, it's just that once the excitement goes away, I don't have any desire to know the rest of him. I don't want to deal with dragging him home, gutting him, preparing him and cooking him, so to speak. It's just too much work, and I've got other things to do.

So there's my problem with dating. I like the dating part. I like the flirtation and the getting to know each other. I love going back and forth, and that rush when you know that the other person is into you. But after that... it's just so much work. What do I do about the kid? What do I do about the ex? How is this man going to fit into my busy schedule? Do I really want someone new to introduce to my life?

What does that mean about me, then? Does it mean that I'm selfish? That's I'm lazy? That I just can't commit? I don't know. I just know that I haven't been able to find anyone in two years that even begins to hold my interest after I've got him. I'm learning to focus on other things... my kid, obviously, but work. Writing. Working out. I can't keep investing all this time and energy into things that I'm not even going to follow through on. That doesn't mean that I'm going to stop dating, but... I can't make it this constant game anymore. I'm going to have to find someone who will move at a snail's pace with me, no matter how much my instincts tell me to push forward. I don't think that I can stop fishing... but maybe, if I do it carefully enough - with a net, perhaps, and not a hook - I can find someone who I can be comfortable with. Maybe I can find someone whose eye doesn't have a hook through it.

I'll probably still have to scale him and gut him, though.