This morning I drove myself, along with dad, down to Mamaroneck to pick up a computer desk. It was a suburban jungle. The snow piled high, the parking lot narrow, a big tractor-type plow bullying our journey from the building to the car. On the way we heard Jonathan Shwartz' program, which featured (among other stuff) that "Irish Queen" song Jason Robert Brown originally wrote for TL5Y and a gorgeous Ray Charles rendition of "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning."
I would say my misery-nostalgia index has been pretty good lately, hovering perhaps between a low of 5 and a high of 9--- none so better than yesterday, when I actually heard from a potential source of an index plunge. Every time I actually speak to him I am instantly reminded of how little I want to have anything to do with him, and the reason that my experiences with him are long since in the past.
The next guy I date will have the following as central personality features: loving compassio, healthy devotion, and endless support. He will be the first person I'd call in a crisis, the one who knows exactly how to lift my spirits, with the right joke, the right comment. I will never worry how a piece of information will effect him; it will never occur to me to feel nervous around him. We will give each other friendship above all. And nothing less will even be considered.