Setting the timer

I had a very nice afternoon this afternoon, talking to a young woman named Mary, an attorney in DC. Because of the inside-out way such things work, I came home after seeing her and set a timer. I am betting that by 7:55 tomorrow morning, I will get the usual you're-a-really-nice-guy-and-it-was-fun-meeting-you-but-I-don't-think-it-would-work-so-good-luck-in-your-search email.

I'll let you know.

I'm still not set on a decision whether to go out to San Francisco and see Martha. She and I talked for a long time tonight about a rich and detailed pair of emails we exchanged on Friday. I just have a feeling that while she wants me to come see her, and she has said several times she does, she's also so determined to keep her expectations (and mine) under control and keep things realistic that she's basically drained the sense of romantic adventure out of any possibility that might come of it. When I got off the phone I was wondering why I ever wrote to her in the first place. When it gets to that point, it's bad. I can deal with almost anything except someone who is so pedantically practical they never open their wings up and fly a little.

Whenever I'm in a situation where I feel like I have to persuade someone of the same thing every time I talk to them, something they used to know, I have already lost.

I may have a houseguest this weekend. The woman from Chicago wants to come and see me. We'll have a final decision on that tomorrow afternoon, pending flight details, but at this point, a cute woman who actually says she wants to be with me is worth a hundred who say they might. I go in expecting nothing, and then am surprised when it's better than nothing. And astonished when it's much better than nothing.

I hope she doesn't mind having cats sit on her. Bert is out in the upstairs part of the house this week (as a reward for being so Berfy) and he's definitely a let's-sit-on-the-woman sort of cat. It'd be more pleasant if he didn't also have a tendency to sneeze all over them.

Anyway, the woman from Chicago -- we'll call her Fawn, because she has a very deerlike look to her, all fine bones and brown hair and eyes -- might just get me out of this feeling that the entire world is old and tired and nobody wants to take risks. The same sense of romantic adventure Martha seems intent on shooing away from her door, Fawn seems to want to invite in and provide with tea.