Sunday night confessional

(I can do this now that my ex isn't tracking my every textual move, you know.)

* I think Cashmere Mafia is a great show.

* I cried on the train home from the library, and now I know why I felt so awful last week and it makes me angry. But I've decided it no longer matters why I'm mad.

* It's hard to think about the sublime when all I feel is dejection. I hope that will change, or I'll at least forget about it.

* I've now gone longer without having sex than I have at any point since before I met my ex. I realize this sounds kind of obnoxious. I think what bothers me the most is the fear that the longer I go without having sex, the more meaningful it will be when I do have it again, or I will have lost my nerve. I think, obviously, we would all like to find ourselves having not-entirely-meaningless sex (okay, maybe not all of us), but going into it expecting meaning seems to me like courting disaster. I think my happiness depends a great deal on stringing out the casual-ness as long as possible: once things start to have meaning, once I tell you I like you, then it's all over. I'm beginning to think that what changes is less the other person's behavior, but more its weight--that is, what would just be a forgivable, dismissable, par-for-the-course-what-did-you-expect incident when you haven't given anything to the other person somehow becomes dealbreakingly inhuman after you admit to even liking them. I'm merely trying to identify the part over which I have some modicum of control.

* The obnoxious reversal on the foregoing is that I'm far too fragile and emotionally run down for one-night stands anyway. So I'm kind of stuck and I hate it. That's not why I cried tonight, but if anyone asks, it is.