The date went well last night, I felt wonderfully at ease and had a very nice time. The wine and free champagne — being friendly with the sommelier at Le Bateau Ivre has its advantages — was like the New York existence I always imagined, and we do plan to see one another again. I would have been crushed had he bid me sweet adieu without a thought, however, I don’t know that I want the responsibility of a seeing someone. It sounds ridiculous, or “ridic” as my Australian friends would say, after all these months of sincerely wanting to be with someone but I don’t know that I need one more egg to fry. So, the conundrum continues.

I got up early and walked for a bit to clear my thoughts, find coffee, and test the city weather. Lyrics from Sunday Morning Coming Down encapsulated my mood well:
‘Cuz there’s something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there’s nothin‘ short of dyin‘,
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin‘ city sidewalks
Sunday mornin‘ comin‘ down.

I’ll tell you what, doing nothing but thinking is really quite tiring. And the egg image is kind of making me hungry.