Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre

If this was a song and not something Albert Camus said, it would be my theme song. It is too general to be my motto, and I'm not the kind to have a motto, but I think it can be my theme song anyways.

After three weeks alone, I spent more than thirty hours with another person. This abrupt change was very strange to me, and I have regained my seclusion for a few hours to shower, eat, read and write. I feel comfortable in these activities. At 7:30 we will see Hannah Arendt. Every date feels like my first date. Honestly, I don't put much stock in dates. Too premeditated. The only one that stuck was the 8th grade outing to see Borat, which is really a story that I should tell at parties. Have I been on other dates? I don't know. I remember thinking “Is this my first date?” many times, and yet have no recollection of the incidents themselves. I guess I need to go on better dates. Hannah Arendt will probably not be a spectacular date, but I want to see it in order to better understand my friends who think that she is a spiffy lady.

I'm reading The Beautiful and Damned, but the doomed romance is too much. In the face of this new thing I really shouldn't be adding fuel to the pilot light of cynicism that asks me why? Why? Why? Is there really a connection here? Am I capable of connection. I think that people see the best in me for 8 cumulative hours of their life.

No. I want someone who likes me deliriously and unconsciously. I think I could like them that way too, if they started it. No, I would be bored.

The language barrier is kind of a drag. French accents are cute, but French is cuter. Just not with my mouth, which insists on deforming words every so slightly and just enough that I wish they'd never been spoken. I wish I felt like I belonged here. No more of this bullshit, never again. No more things I didn't earn. Every time I have something I didn't merit, I forget my merits and that is terribly dangerous.

I feel safe by myself, naked, on my bed. Books, computers, spicy mustard and gooey cheese are all I need. Pens are nice too.

Boys are also good. It's just hard to feel comfortable. I keep waiting for him to smile as much for me as he does for... the time I saw his biggest smile. And it's the same every time I don't understand why they don't because I do. I'm not pretending, either. Not then.