Well, it was. It was indeed a shy-ster. My performance was ok, tho not great, tho I think it could have been good had I something to work with. I'm remarkably unperturbed about it, tho I just wolfed half a big pizza and chased it with a bowl of cereal. But too excited to sleep, even when it's a negative excitement. I imagine nothing further will come of it: the hope that's kept me afloat the last couple of weeks has run aground. Einsamkeit bleibet meine Freude. I'm not quite feeling this acerbic disappointment yet tho. Sie hat aber fast nichts gesagt, elle n'a dit presque rien. There are lessons: the possibility of a lived life remains, this has perhaps shown me this. But i rerecall my dinner time inadequacies, which pain I had ignored buoyed by the aforementioned hope. To have never connected, with anyone, ever, since time immemorial. Einsamkeit bleibet meine Freude. I don't imagine she'll want to see me again; if I were her, i'd be feeling bad, embarassed. In most ways she's like me, except I did some pregame prep, I psyched myself up etc. Indeed, I know, well kind of, that the way I percieved her is exactly the way others perceive me.