Sunday

No Toasters or Guns, Either (9/04/08 Thursday)

Julie’s absence has not been so hard as I expected. For the sake of drama, I muster an occasional heavy sigh at work, but besides the pining I'm mostly free of tension but for thoughts of what I must do when she gets back.

Hinckley has brought me to my senses. He sees no obstacle to my asking Julie out, and, when forced by that opinion to spin ‘round to his perspective, neither can I. Any obstacles there ever were were fabricated from cowardice. All this stratagem, all these inky words have been ladders against a wall of cloud. It makes no sense not to ask Julie out; it’s only wanting opportunity, in the path of which I must be assiduous in not building any obscurantive obstacles. I’d like to do it as near to the end of next week as possible, in order to more easily make my escape into my vacation–to lick the wounds of rejection more privately, should that dread contingency win out. But I haven’t planned for that. In fact, I’m doing my best to not plan at all, right down to openly admonishing myself with "No planning, no scenarios, no scripts" as a mantra against those imaginings that will creep in.

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