Quiet Now
I haven't been able to sketch lately, but at least I have been able to write, I suppose.
I feel I should be reading more as well. I began reading The Stranger again, and that has been a slow trough through venomous mediocrity. I don't know if I get it. I'm also trying to read Mansfield Park but have had some trouble getting through the foreword. Perhaps I don't need to read it, but I have learned some interesting perspectives from forewords and so I inclined to preserver (a word I thought had an e at the end).
I have started receiving mail at my new apartment. Packages. In my fridge there is eggs, kale, mushrooms, baby carrots, diet cherry Dr. Pepper, Le Croix, and hard cider (a special summer ginger flavor!) Of these things I have only used the Dr. Pepper and the Le Croix. Oh, and a Brita! I purchased that on my second day here. There's clothes, blankets and books strewn across the floor which makes the space feel comfortably snug. The bed on one end, open to a clean and empty space, was an imposing presence. I imagine when I finally move the cats over they will be less happy with the space, although truly they'll have about the same amount of area to run in, just no extra room to be banned and shooed from.
There is a pool here, but it is too small to do laps in. Too small to properly be called a swimming pool, it's more like a large bath, but not opulently large like the kind you'd imagine Roman senators in due to the propensity for them in historical dramas- maybe just big enough to fit in a very large downtown loft. Surrounded by glass walls and minimalist furniture it would be quite nice, but without some show of expense to add glitter to it's waters the pool is just a reflection of how small the complex is. I'm sure next year I will not be able to afford to live here. By then I may not be able to afford to move, either, depending on how much I acquire to make my space appear more lived in. Properly lived in. Not the wreckage site it is now. Though keeping up appearances is on the low end of my concerns...which is likely why I keep turning off the men whose interest I haphazardly gained. This, too, is on the low end of my concerns.
A day away I am less consumed by having been stood up. I don't know if it helps or hurts that I started my period the same day that occurred, but I like to think it adds some perspective to my emotional state at the time. I feel that if I have to go through the pain and grossness of having a period regularly, I might as well use it as an excuse for doing things I later regret. Like alcohol. Or anything, really. There's always a way to excuse one's own bad behavior- if you can't come up with one you aren't looking at the right part of your childhood. So I am absorbing the minor lesson and the impression I have of his face grows lighter every day.
This is not intentional. I rather liked the sincere expressions he managed. I think I am finding dating most useful in that I want to be able to emulate this casual, coquettish confidence that my generation of men have evolved to display. This disarming quality is perhaps the cleverest thing men have ever embraced. I seek to control this evil and add it to my own repertoire of wickedness. This is the one thing my short-term lover gifted me.
Outside of intel-gathering I have grown bored with the idea of dating in general. Conversations take a similar route and all men are sporty and incredibly well put-together and interesting in their own minds. They're all gods who have captured all the specialness of an interest they have thrown themselves into and with that knowledge can take the heart and body of any woman they want. Preferably thin and blonde, but weird works too because they'll likely be freaks in bed. The masters of tech, law, science and mathematics- musicians on the side. I really just want to get close enough to meet their dogs.
Perhaps I just need more female friends with dogs. Is there an app for that?
I feel I should be reading more as well. I began reading The Stranger again, and that has been a slow trough through venomous mediocrity. I don't know if I get it. I'm also trying to read Mansfield Park but have had some trouble getting through the foreword. Perhaps I don't need to read it, but I have learned some interesting perspectives from forewords and so I inclined to preserver (a word I thought had an e at the end).
I have started receiving mail at my new apartment. Packages. In my fridge there is eggs, kale, mushrooms, baby carrots, diet cherry Dr. Pepper, Le Croix, and hard cider (a special summer ginger flavor!) Of these things I have only used the Dr. Pepper and the Le Croix. Oh, and a Brita! I purchased that on my second day here. There's clothes, blankets and books strewn across the floor which makes the space feel comfortably snug. The bed on one end, open to a clean and empty space, was an imposing presence. I imagine when I finally move the cats over they will be less happy with the space, although truly they'll have about the same amount of area to run in, just no extra room to be banned and shooed from.
There is a pool here, but it is too small to do laps in. Too small to properly be called a swimming pool, it's more like a large bath, but not opulently large like the kind you'd imagine Roman senators in due to the propensity for them in historical dramas- maybe just big enough to fit in a very large downtown loft. Surrounded by glass walls and minimalist furniture it would be quite nice, but without some show of expense to add glitter to it's waters the pool is just a reflection of how small the complex is. I'm sure next year I will not be able to afford to live here. By then I may not be able to afford to move, either, depending on how much I acquire to make my space appear more lived in. Properly lived in. Not the wreckage site it is now. Though keeping up appearances is on the low end of my concerns...which is likely why I keep turning off the men whose interest I haphazardly gained. This, too, is on the low end of my concerns.
A day away I am less consumed by having been stood up. I don't know if it helps or hurts that I started my period the same day that occurred, but I like to think it adds some perspective to my emotional state at the time. I feel that if I have to go through the pain and grossness of having a period regularly, I might as well use it as an excuse for doing things I later regret. Like alcohol. Or anything, really. There's always a way to excuse one's own bad behavior- if you can't come up with one you aren't looking at the right part of your childhood. So I am absorbing the minor lesson and the impression I have of his face grows lighter every day.
This is not intentional. I rather liked the sincere expressions he managed. I think I am finding dating most useful in that I want to be able to emulate this casual, coquettish confidence that my generation of men have evolved to display. This disarming quality is perhaps the cleverest thing men have ever embraced. I seek to control this evil and add it to my own repertoire of wickedness. This is the one thing my short-term lover gifted me.
Outside of intel-gathering I have grown bored with the idea of dating in general. Conversations take a similar route and all men are sporty and incredibly well put-together and interesting in their own minds. They're all gods who have captured all the specialness of an interest they have thrown themselves into and with that knowledge can take the heart and body of any woman they want. Preferably thin and blonde, but weird works too because they'll likely be freaks in bed. The masters of tech, law, science and mathematics- musicians on the side. I really just want to get close enough to meet their dogs.
Perhaps I just need more female friends with dogs. Is there an app for that?
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