I'm confused about the order but I think I've got the steps

I thought I was about to cry last night. It was a moment with Jeremy Enigk and Sunny Day Real Estate as I sat in my room after two and a half hours reading The Fountain Head. I had written early - not here - about some memories and then I attached that to the book and swirled it with the music and two tears rolled down my cheek.

They felt so good.

I think I enjoyed the pleasure of ridding myself of the toxins inside those two tears so much that I rendered myself unable to release any more.

With the moment gone,I smoked (cigarettes give me a buzz now that I only smoke one a day) to tingle my hands before coming to the computer to find people.

Jordan was online.

Yeah...

There's a guy named Jordan who wants to go hang out with me but for it to not be a date. I'm looking forward to it.

The stats on that subject are unimportant. The funny thing is that there was a time when I could not get an official date, and now I'm glad to be going on one.

Remember back when girls all bitched, "why is it SO HARD for a guy to set a time, place, have a plan, and then pay? Just call it a date!"

That was me. I was confused at why some guy would be embarrassed to be officially going on a date with me.

Now I know embarrassment had nothing to do with it. They just didn't want the expectations.

I am now weary of outings with guys that revolve around expectations. What not to mention. How hard to laugh. Where to sit. When to touch. If you call it a date I expect you to call me back.

If we're just kicking it you are free to run screaming into the night while throwing things at strangers.

Plus, Jordan is a rocker and manages a couple bands so hanging out with him means live music. I'm such a groupie. I love "scenes". Sign me up.

In other news there was an email in my inbox this morning that made me stare for a few seconds before opening it.

Tylere left for England a week ago, listening to a CD I had made for him, and having promised me the night before (drunk) that he would indeed email me from his semester abroad. I was happy to receive his promise, but I didn't believe him.

But today there it was. My first email from England and I'm comforted.

Perhaps it's denial and miserable, sad, sorry fucking ignorance, but I really think ...

There is a twelve-year-old boy here - a friend of my kid's - and he's singing Men Without Hats. There are four twelve-year-old boys here, actually. I'm going to be ready for bed again tonight.