Sunday may be the best time to write your potentials, but Sunday night, for me, is Dad night.

I go over every week now, he cooks something, I eat it, I clean, and we discuss… well, anything, mostly, to avoid talking about ma.

She was a driving force behind me gettin’ online – when she got sick again, she said how she was confident in my sister’s life – a fine career well marked out already, a husband, now in just a few weeks a mother… she, she wasn’t worried about.

I was a different story. Freelancing along, flying by the seat of my pants, single with no particular signs that would change soon, on the wrong side of 30… me, she was worried about. Ma said aloud that she feared I’d die lonely and alone.

Now, that wasn’t a fear of mine – not at my age, 32 is the new 13 – but ma did shake me up a bit with that, and besides I was going to do what I could to ease her mind.

So, online I went – the easiest, fastest way to meet many women. Don’t get me wrong – it’s just one tool in the belt, today online dating is entirely mainstream and most every single between, say, 18 and 40 is doin’ it – but, well, it’s a strong tool.

And then ma handed me a conundrum. She died last month, and amongst all the emotions that brought up, somewhere around the 1,678^th priority, I wondered how I should deal with that in this dating life.

I could hide it – I’m a brilliant compartmentalizer, I myself don’t realize what I’m going through unless I’m letting it in, and in bad moments I can slap on a mask as well as anyone – but that wouldn’t feel too honest.

I could admit it to everyone – but that would just open the door to Animal-House-esque manipulations, using tragedy to guilt out sex. And besides, it’d be too easy, and too empty, and the brief relief of carnal amnesia would be replaced with something much less wholesome the next morning.

Most likely what I should have done is take a break entirely, withdraw and nurse and return when healthy again. As it stands, I’m sure – nah, I know for a fact – I’ve had some strange reactions to things at times, with hidden emotions bubbling out in uncontrolled ways.

But I’m not strong enough to retire alone like that, I crave the diversions of dates and lips, and in an odd way continuing on is the best tribute to the old gal I could make – pursuing what she wanted for me, doing my part to make myself happy now that she could no longer contribute to that, her prime directive.

So, in the end, I decided alright – I won’t hide it, but I also won’t bring it up. If the conversation turns that direction, so be it – but I’m not going out of my way, leaving little baits and hints and melodramatic sighs. I’ll play this clean.

Rule #38 Don’t manipulate.

It would have been the easiest thing to twist pity into sex. Fun too.

But it wouldn’t mean much, and would only lead to problems in the end – indeed, things likely went south with The Divorcee after three dates only because I cancelled date #2 on account of funeral. (Best. Excuse. Ever.) Who could turn down later dinner requests from a mourner like me? We never shoulda seen the new year with hopes high anyway.

Now, if some model were to say “What the hell, I’ll give you a night,” I’m not saying no. But I ain’t pushing a pity party on anyone either – works great for meaningless sex, but that’s a mere distraction at this point.

And, as of now… I don’t think I’m dating anyone who knows about ma. And that’s probably exactly how it should be. As I said, I’m not hiding it – but I’m not using it to get in the door either. I want to be able to like myself each day. No manipulating.