Technicolor Daydream

A little over a year ago I received a Match.com email that changed things. It changed everything.
It is fair to say that at that point in time, my allure with online dating had begun to wane. Initially I had jumped into the process with great trepidation. I had tested the waters in Fall of 2009, retracted my profile at least 5 times, got involved, got confused, recovered, and had then decided to wait out the holidays away from the Internet. Dating for the first time in over 17 years was unexpectedly complicated. I had somehow gotten entangled in several relationships that were each proving to be unfulfilling, and that was making me a tad crazy. I wanted what I didn’t have. So back online I went. 
In January of last year I reactivated my Match profile and hoped for the best. I was immediately bombarded with emails and winks, and soon became overwhelmed with the entire situation. It seemed as if I might have to quit my job and disown all my friends in order to have enough time to properly wade through the correspondence and weed out the crap. Instead, I just started pouring through the masses. Initially there was a feeling of obligation and I actually attempted to respond to each request. After awhile, I simply started ignoring everyone that obviously didn’t read my profile.
It was apparent that many men looked at the pictures and maybe my occupational/salary level and thought I was worthy of a discussion and perhaps a date. Other than the fact that we were both breathing, our compatibility ended there. Seriously. If I say, and I quote, “I run fast, work hard, talk openly, and thrive off learning and doing new things. I am very much IN THE MOMENT. I want someone that can keep up with me, as I have apparently limitless energy and require little sleep!”. 
If I say these things…and I DID say these things in the first freaking paragraph of my profile…If I say these things, do not think that we will get along if you love your couch like a brother, find solace in silence, and want a “good little quiet Southern woman”. I am not these things. Not now, and not ever. 
So after a couple months of a lot of email exchanges, many first dates, more than a few uncomfortable or bizarre encounters, I had become rather ambivalent with my Match.com affair. As my friend Rain so eloquently said, “I’ve had enough learning and character building. I want fuzzy warm things now”.
And then the email came. It was short, it was succinct, it was obvious this person had read what I wrote. I liked what he said, and I liked the pictures that came along with the words. But I was more than a tad suspect. He lived more than 2 hours away, he was much younger than me, and he had a son. Perhaps I thought I could still learn a few things. I was obviously still willing to risk for love, so I responded and the dialogue with Jason began. 
Shortly thereafter we met for the first time over brunch. 368 days later I am living the most intense technicolor daydream. It’s been fast, and furious, and aggressive, and volatile, and absolutely without question…amazing. It’s NEVER boring. It’s calm when it should be, and complicated when it needs to. It’s everything flamboyant superimposed on everything mundane, and I’ve never known anything else like it. I remember each of the last 367 days clearly. I remember because they are vivid and bright. 

They are a rainbow in my head and they are in Technicolor.