My budget has been set back a month by going out with Emily. This is not a bad thing. The money I get paid as a high-end photocopier and proctor will make up for it--if the idiots at central payroll ever process my request.

One thing I constantly wonder about is if Emily is pretty enough. It is of course a sad commentary on my part. I go back and forth between yes and not being sure. Then again I go back and forth between whether or not it'll last long term. Then again, I can't stand most people nowadays, so by applying golf handicap logic things must be going tremendously well. It is fun, regardless, and that's all that matters. Love can happen or not happen.

More stress than usual. I have had several horrific nightmares the last few nights. My forthcoming descriptions pale in the hate and fear those slabs of witching hour chicken were basted in.

I've also been working closely with the DeviantART print service to get my reprints sent before the photography expo May 11th. It's been like pulling teeth with sharks. More on that later.

For now, Emily called. She has a headache but wants to discuss the bowling banquet her good friend Karyn invited me to, as well as lunch plans for friday I set up. I sense there's a booty call somewhere in this. I'd prefer getting some studying and hot cider done at a cafe, but this'll work too and if it makes her happy well that's good. I'll bring along my backpack just in case.

(Update) We ended up watching most of Ghost Dog. (The last time I saw that movie was with Erin M. at Oberlin. I think she fell asleep too. I remember thinking at the time that I should have realized. That was some unknowable battle that couldn't be won, of course). I helped tuck Emily in and lay there with her until she fell asleep. I gathered my things and was prepared to leave when she called out my name. I answered. I hadn't woken her up, but she'd spontaneously come to and wondered if I was there, because she missed me. I came in, kissed her, took off my jacket, then my shoes as she said I could leave if I wanted to. Of course that wouldn't do, so I lay with her again until she was asleep. The hardest part about leaving quietly is the back door. The doorknob squeals, from a need of oil. But slowly, carefully, it will nod up as I pass along and through the corridors, back outside in the night to my world.

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