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.

oh lord.maybe 12 days in, and dire, drunk, despairful; will liver and psyche survive this? How tempting, to cease upon this night w/ no pain. The LOST ost, that speaks to that pain that's infinite, that's hopeful. And a mother zu hause, durchgeleidet. And one day, ofc, I will be dead; and let's hope that day's soon. No, that's too harsh. But imagine, you can tell in an instant that certain people aren't going to fit into the academia; you can tell to, let's hope not, that people aren't going to fit into people. Always to be alone? Can I even contemplate that? Let's note that since I began this blog I have not had a girlfriend, and that having a girlfriend was the one thing I have sought.

That one can sustain, sober, a sort of minimal level of being, that one can walk the streets and run errands and smile shyly at people whom one's awkwardness awkwardizes; that one can drip, in a darkening 4 pm, in a mislocated argos buying a lamp, waiting, 11 minutes of life here in an aloneless that's among; and then walk home, and the vague animal thoughts that accompany the journey, that the rain makes bothersome.

And you sneer, slightly, that the rain discomfits, and you think of the pellucid lies that you can tell of what you did, and pray for monday, coz empty friday, empty sat'day are far hence, and everybody hates monday so you, hating everyday, are accidentally normal. No, not hating everyday.

And yeah, this is silly, but YOU, sober Watt, reading this; as read this you will - because you will sober and rue this - and you will library and lie, and spend next weekend beastly alone