If I don’t say I love you, I mean it.

I went to Steak ‘n Shake with Manda tonight (I was planning on writing quotation marks around her name but for some reason without thinking wrote it normally) and we talked, and she, well first I gave my impression of her, and her “faults” (I will quote-ize that, though that’s not a word) and just what I picked up, and then I talk about myself and she suddenly knows my ugliness.

She has a totally different view on things, which interests me, and also makes me feel very small. (No. Not small. Insignificant.)

I came home to find 6 porn IM names had IMed while I’d left myself online accidentally, and I guess I’ll block them all now, even though “SexyMeg 55824” will be ringing tomorrow. My dog shat again on the porch which has carpet on it. I don’t get angry about it because he does it in little hard piles (though today’s is bigger) so I can just take paper towels and wraps them around and throw it outside.

One last, insignificant observation: I carry around my camera on a specially fitted case which hangs around my shoulder to my adjacent hip. I feel cool. When I wear this brown, little-too-big-for-me SUEDE jacket, I look like the kid from “Almost Famous”, with his Nagra (or whatever recording device it is) by his side.

Manda told me (I really wanted to put quotation marks that time, but didn’t to keep up with the precedent set earlier in the entry), as we drove home, “As long as you keep cataloging people and being judgmental you’ll never find someone who you get along with and you’ll always be lonely.” (Something like that.) When she said lonely, I thought “yes, you’re right.” For some reason when she says something I believe it. I think it’s because I respect her.

I listened to Águas de Março by Tom Jobin (a Portuguese singer) on the way home. It feels how I feel.