Friday, February 26, 2010

Week one be done

The job continues on swimmingly.  Everyone should be lucky enough to have some experience working (for pay) at something that doesn't feel like work.  I get more than 10 people's share of that by getting paid to play my instrument, on such occasions as I'm given the opportunity.  This job isn't quite so unfettered, but it's pretty close.  The people are fun to be around and everyone's helpful and interested in having a fair amount of fun.  There are episodes of work that occasionally break out -- there is a business trying to be run -- but when I can take a few minutes to watch one videos of one of the hornsmiths boxing matches or trade bon mot with the woodwind tech, it's approximately awesome.


It does throw being alone into sharper relief, I admit.  There's less time for hanging around and moping, mostly because I got to bed by 9.  But spending several hours with people makes coming home to quiet castle a bit of a letdown. 

In the name of not being an anti-social hermit, I went on another date tonight after work.  It's a Friday night, Valentine's Day is safely out of the way for most of another year, so it's a pretty good time to date.  Besides, I'm not really interested in allowing my social graces to atrophy, which I'm pretty sure they do after extended periods of no exercise.

[At this point, I leaned back in my office chair and fell asleep for about five minutes.  I may need to make this brief!]

I like my friends.  There exists, however, some weird barrier of DNA just beyond them, because all of their women friends are god awful.  I don't know why they don't realize this, especially when they continually get the idea to set me up with these women.  More importantly, I wish to be able to excise the tumor on said DNA that gives strange impressions which link me with them in my friends minds.  People should have a basic level of commonality to have even a shot at romance -- being single is not a useful commonality, I fear. 

I need only really say a couple things to suggest the path of the evening.  Before dessert, we already had five solid minutes of arguing about health care and abortion.  How did we end up talking contentious medical issues on a first date?  Hell if I know.  Apparently, she'd read that you weren't supposed to do it from enough books that she thought "hang on, what if I do?" 

A few more of these dates and I'll start filling out forms to become a desexed and bookish literature professor.  I swear it!  I'll take my copy of "King Lear" to the park and tell anyone who will listen that "it's a stirring and adaptable saga of aging that changes depending on when in your life you read it."  I'll do it!

See to what lengths a succession of split-check dinners has driven me?

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