Days, days. Today featured: a lovely rhubarb crumble. And with MC? Vague awkwardness. Only in the context of a social occasion does a gesture have meaning, and the context of dindins and my having nothing to say were. Well, perhaps the context principle doesn't have that wide an application. Bleh. It occurred to me that I ironed out a kink in my thinking: to the extent that it's very unlikely anything'll happen immediately or ever w/ MC, it is pragmatic not to eggbasketify her. But then does love, unlike truth, admit of pragmatics? Is the heart but a calculating machine? Why am I so sonorous these days? Was sind und was sollen die Moeglichkeiten? Ah, for a nooscope. Nevertheless, my intention in blogging is to hoard my treasures, and analyse this hoarding. For my treasure today was slight, so slight. On entering dining hall she seemed to pace across the room to enter simultaneous with me. Yesterday, she sat near me, a slight breach of etiquette I think. Now to the analysis: such things, on which I set such stock, are really piddling merdated nothings.
What's so shitting annoying but is that my ineptness can be taken for rudeness.