Well blogy, the term ended well, if not shenaniganly, with Her, whom I really do think myself properly to like. To wit, I have been, this slow and lazy, cold day, spent incamerated, dozy reading, thinking on her, and smiling, remembering that which she did. A genuine like for her qua person as opposed to someone of whom I can say, to myself or to others, that she's my girl. It's perhaps a bit annoying that Christmas comes, and thereby a month's separation, but well. I live in some sort of hope that things could be good for me, in the year that is to come.

And so, life, thou comest around with thy vital ways, and december is upon us, the days darkling at noon, the new cold unexpected and bracing, and the still point in this turning world Watt academically dwells. And this still point hopes to have a date on Saturday, the third with the girl, and he hopes to eat and watch and maybe, just maybe, get somewhere. But he is nothing if not a philosopher, and induction, with its brute main force over our ideas, associates ill with the transition: Watt has a date, so it will go well. And associates big with the transition: Watt has a date, so it will go bad. But there is a fact, as there was two years hence in MC's, in her cerebellum - and hereafter let her be only Her - and it may be as tristful as MC's. But then so it is. The new year brings new opportunities. But if it isn't, you, Watt, are to have to nerve to get through to another, whom you like. Let us see how Saturday, which I am investing with value, goes. I will try.

Getting with the modern world and trying blogging from my phone, so ignore the odd pseudonym, there is an explanation but it is not an interesting one. Anyway, the motivation for this little post is the angst consequent on trying to predict the behaviour of others, specifically.my new beliked, whom i predicted would text me tonight but who probably won't. That other people are just so darn inscrutable, that i'm trapped in piddling obsessions over nothing, that i am not liked, or, if liked, unable to determine this. Being with others is just darned difficult. Let's see what happens.

Ah, il corpo lasso e un poco triste, ma non so perche; non, so. This is liable to be a bit angsty ( so what else is new amirite? hmm, been reading ed a bit often, tho not so much that I actually use 'amirite' properly, evidently). I was darned wrong anyway in the previous post, we went out, it was nice, but around the world turns, I still would like some unambiguous sign, that would comfort. But, I guess that's not how things go. The fact of my having to go thru each time the anxious woe of uncertain asking; that she doesn't remonstrate greater, isn't more communicative. I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE I'M BOTHERING HER. But she's given no indication of this. So it's probably I'm thinking ill. This is a pretty awful entry, entertainmentwise. I do apologise, my humble reader.

Ah well, they do say, isn't it, that history repeats itself, and history is repeating itself, namely the history pattern - roughly speaking - of first approaching then being rejected by a first approaching then withdrawing shy person, with the horrendum dictu result that I remain as lone as ever. But well, fuck it into oblivion, least I know, least I tried.

Well blogy, a date with a girl this friday past. Went pretty well, I think. We went to the theatre, thereafter walked thru the town for like 1.5 hrs, talking. I like her; but she's shy, and it's very hard to see how things will develop. Nevertheless, I'ma try, but I'm hampered by schedule for a while. I'm wondering whether I should conversationally text her, whether she'd like that or find it bothersome. Will try anyway, and try to arrange to see her again. If she should say 'no', then so be it. I don't need to push it with her, I'm not to be horrid obsessed like she with whom this blog began in earnest, MC, the now shadow being. I fear however I fall into the pattern of choosing non-expressive girls, whom I must then chase, and whom's then nonremonstration denotes ambiguously either shyness or uninterest, and how the devil to tell?

What a - calender - week. Postclass coffee with my new beliked, 5 course meal. Day off. A few hours marking in new home w/ new beliked, 5 course meal in evening. First time ever on the teaching side of a class, under- prepared and slept: didn't go great; frantic attempt to finish essay all day. Finish essay in morn, classes, walk, in the newly minted winter 7 dark w/ beliked. A supermarket. She doesn't like pasta. Outside supermarket, I ask the girl out. She says yes! I retrace my steps back thru the town, smiling, stopping off to urinate in a shopping centre. Morning; criticism of essay, valid but annoying. The fear that I can't manage this work; that I'm not as good as I thought I was. A temporary postponement of date for scheduling reasons, from this weekend to next, leaving this weekend mawful. Anxiety thereabouts. Then the realisation, camped tired on the floor: this is life, the fear that one can't manage, professionally, socially, the hopes that one can and will. This little cloud of being prior to inevitable death. I live, I test myself; I just need now patience, I will continue, in the silence you don't know, I will go on, I will go on.