No work crises. No personal crises. No 1st, 2nd, 3rd, or auxillary tier crises. Pleased, I.

I still owe:

1) Nights at the Inferno (where I didn't go on Wednesday because I was fuck all tired and apathetic)

For now, an extended venal sequence of superficial introspect and interspection.

As the description suggests, I've created a bitchin' little niche to wallow around for awhile.

In no short order I've established my favorite ways to re-experience variations on a theme for myself. I've refined this process to an art form, for an art form, done in an art form.

For instance, I know pursuing Katie B. is just a bad idea. She's cute, she's insightful, she's poetically artistic--like a more folksy version of Tasha. She's also mentioned she's sometimes unstable. No shi-shi borderline emo bullshit unstable. The real deal. In any case, I decided to try this out for kicks. I've entered a post-dating phase. I still date, but it is couched in irony. Rather than reject crazy, I will embrace and ride it to its obvious "...oh" conclusion. I do it as much out of genuinely liking Katie as the fact that it's fodder for writing material. Maybe photography. Possibly both. There is a goldmine of awkward, semi-sweet moments that requires processing, distillation, and getting blind drunk off of before requisite linolieum parking and metaphoric vomit. The emotional rollercoaster, the setbacks, the chaos, the attempt to straddle the fine line between emotionally poking myself and intellectual stimulation.

This is not quasi-dating a married woman to the tune of Placebo as marmosets get it on with shorn goat-men in assless cat-suits. (A weird but noteworthy spectacle, i.e.). That was an excuse to touch someone and get some useful feedback without filtering it through reedy bullshit. (And hey, we even stayed friends, which is a delightful change from the usual pattern). It was useful and I progressed. I learned that being absolutely and unerringly selfish in mating is best, that compromising too much makes one out to be a victim, and that the whole business is pre-programmed lo-fi wankery--so why not have FUN with it? Fuck serious.

This is a far more quiet, thoughtful car crash in progress, by contrast. I haven't believed in having a normal relationship for years. I finally admitted to myself I would get bored and progressively treat the person both peripherally and poorly. Ironically that's exactly what I should have done in some past instances. I knew it all along but gave too much of a fuck to act that way.

So, silly unconfirmed but potential dating situation, check.

I've also started going to the Inferno. I can be drunk, forget about everything else in my life, dance to forget even my mind, and have a fabulous time doing so. My only regret is the silly notion I'll meet anyone there to really care about. So vapid social scene, check.

I've secured a good reputation around my department and regularly intimidate others just by my alleged work ethic and resume alone. Everyone still thinks I work all the time. Everyone still loves the life I bring to parties and outings. And everyone is still largely a gradation of acquaintance, a few of whom I wish I could date (i.e. Erin), but still largely remain people to schmooze with at parties and social functions. So, intellectually stimulating vapid social scene, check.

I've also built up some decent actual friendships. Megan is fun and perky. I will be moving nearer to her soon, which means more adventures and coffee outings. Brian and I support each other and we'll be doing the roommates thing. Katie C. and Dan are friends too. So actual emotionally fulfilling relationships in a local proximity (which is no diss to those in long-distance proximity, I love you), check.

I have my cafe habit, my photography habit, my writing habit, my work habit. My work-at-cafe sub-routine. My work-food-work-cafe and working-home sub-routine. So routine, check.

I have a paper waiting to be submitted, doing work for an eventual series, have additional awe and convenience points for getting a national fellowship, and in general am in a better position than most people in my department. So, mindless pursuit of goal-oriented work behavior, check.

On last count, I have damn near everything a productive human-being could ask for to have a full-bodied, fulfilling life.

And as the cherry on top, I mostly feel level and vague nowadays. Vague fear at doing something wrong in the lab;
vague annoyance when something goes wrong;
vague relief when things aren't as bad as they seem (read: a lot of the time);
vague happiness when I attempt to appreciate what I have;
But mostly, just a feeling of general ok-ness. No extended joy, no horror, no depression, no mania, any intense mood that lasts longer than an hour or so. Just quasi-buddhist ok-ness. I'm either an incredible success, a goddamn joke, or some ironic hybrid.

This is the best point in my life. And that is either extremely edifying, kinda sad, or means nothing.

Regardless, I vaguely love my cliche.

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