Date date date

I met up with the Sicilian on Wednesday night to deliver my annual report. In all the fuss and bother of being broken up with and then nursing my sputtering fantasies of revenge for two years, I had forgotten how much I really do like him and we had a quite a nice time I thought.

The tricky part was when I found myself starting to give him advice on his love life, encouraging him to go out there and date date date. I thought to myself, Self, what the fuck are you doing? You don’t want this man to date. You want him to spend the rest of his life trying in vain to recapture the pinnacles of life that he was able to experience only with you, and eventually to swear off women forever in sad resignation. (For the record, I want this to be true of all men who cross my path, including those who are gay, married, or who I have only briefly made eye contact with on the bus.)

In other news, I have been moved into a new office! Now I have my own rather large space, with my very own window. Basically, I have just sold my soul to DARPA for a corner cubicle and a square foot of natural light. I’m never going to escape from here, am I? I’m going to retire from here when I’m seventy-three.