Came back from Porter's Open Mic event about 10 minutes ago. Gabriel and Mubashir co-hosted. Tons of music. Just fantastic, really. Didn't do much today, seeing I was mostly at my laptop-turned-desktop. FedEx says the Lenovo depot box's coming on Monday. I'm tempted to break my Twitter streak. Well, I can truncate the thread.
Sasha wasn't in when I came back. Ostensibly they're up on the sixth floor at Joey's for some alcohol. I can almost taste the envy writing this. I see so much of their fellow classmates in the AGPM major whereas I can scarcely remember cognitive science majors in any of my classes. Barring Shruti, I don't know where they are. I suppose it wouldn't be inaccurate to say that my interactions with Sasha now are ones to minimize information overload. It would just be mean, and I regret that.
What was I saying again? My, me. You could call it coarticulation, the way I'm souring my moods now.
Mubashir is outgoing and bold and sassy and not husband material. I suppose I should be happy I've resolved the "wanting to be friends" vs. "wanting to be lovers" uncertainty. Instead I feel cold and a bit empty. Again I run into the agency problem. My husband's not coming. Either I search for him myself or I keep waiting. Seeing that precedence is power, I find myself leaning towards the latter. I'm not even frustrated. I know I'm drawn to him, and I know there's something about him that seems important, but I can't see him fitting into my life anymore. See what worrying about the economy and how to afford a rental for a one-bedroom does to you?
I wonder when I stopped caring about my ambitions, my unwavering focus on what the world must be; when the visual flashes of what to do next gave way to wisps of words and verbal commands. The future has turned to muck again. My perceptual faculties are efficient down to the metal. The world drags me in it's orbit. I tire of it.