I stayed home today and didn't get much work done--mostly did something like four or five loads of laundry and cleaned up some of the house, including a part of my bedroom I'd more or less never cleaned and had dust bunnies threatening to evolve into more complex life forms. I had some hope that maybe I'd have a guest this evening, even though I knew from the first date that I probably wouldn't. I'm not sure why I bother with optimism when reality is always right in front of my nose for me to see, if I can just summon the brutal courage to acknowledge it. It's only really hard when the world isn't the way I want it; optimism or hope, in my case, is usually an expression of discontent, and it doesn't serve me nearly as well as simple perception. I mean, I know what a spark with someone else feels like. I never mistake it for something else, and I never fail to notice it. It always seems to just be wishful thinking when I try and see if it shows up on the second or third try.

There's a way of being with all this that I'm missing or refusing. I'll find my way when it's time, though.

Listening to Lucy Kaplansky, Every Single Day; highly recommended. Also the Eels albums Blinking Lights and Other Revelations and Daisies of the Galaxy, which are odd albums and so far seem very mood-sensitive for me.

I'm starting to wonder if something's changed with me in the past few months that certain women who have never shown any interest in me at all have suddenly started talking to me and wanting to be friends. Which is great, they're cool people and I'm happy to get to know them under whatever terms, but I wonder if there's a bigger pattern happening.

Chop wood, carry water.