Dissertations are like the day after Chinese New Year: you eat a ten course meal, you love each dish, you’re totally loving stuffing your face, and eventually near the end you’re fuckin’ sick of everything and never want to eat again. And the next day you take a massive poop and everything is great again. Right now you could say I’m in the middle of the night after consuming 3 years of brain meals and am ready for the poop. Very, very ready. Uncomfortably ready.

The weekend was full. I had work to do on Saturday and I enjoyed it because I was in my ideal space: an empty-ish living room, a big empty table, the smell of fresh coffee wafting in the cool-ish air, the lights bright and natural, remnants of bacon and eggs mixed in, a classical music-ish station tuned in, and no distractions-ish for the day. Loneliless solitude. Notepads full. Full of shit maybe, but yeah. Notepads full.

By the time it was over, and all was done, and it was time to relax, and it was dark then, and it was just solitude. Of the relatively lonely sort.

Go through mails? Respond to that text? Go out? Call that person back? IM? Temptation for contact was high. Almost on cue, around 10p, I got a text from a chick I’ve been flirting with a little bit. An architect intern with a penchant for expensive dinners and risque clothes. Her tattoos are extra loud because of how extra pale her skin is. I sort of knew she’d write eventually, the smile at the end of our last conversation was too long. That was a week ago. This is not the girl who told me I made her feel small. This is the girl with red hair who runs triathlons and likes the pinup look. The girl who lives in Fuckface Town, aka Williamsburg (and where else would you expect?)  When she did write, I was tempted to write back immediately. Yes, lets go hang out. I’ll shave and wear clothes you probably like so that you’ll feel comfortable with me, maybe comfortable enough to… 

After torturing myself for a bit I remembered I’m taken man: I’m dating the All Night Room.

What’s inside,
How would you know,
That you could grow?
‘Cause what’s inside,
Comes outside, And
fucks your shit up.

Training has been great. My swimming is almost as comfortable now as it was in the seemingly distant past of my early-mid 20s. Those swims were mostly ocean, and if only the ocean here wasn’t toxic, I’d be out there regularly, probably. This is my East Coast life. The San Diego side of things… now that’s just a pretty picture altogether. That place means mornings on the water, evenings in the sun.

Coffee now, and more later. No meetings today but much work ahead. Training in two hours. Oops, now 1:45hr.

Happy Monday, my missed little monkeys.