Excuses

I had a date with another nice young lady yesterday, or, rather, I should say that I had a date scheduled. She texted me an hour-and-a-half before the date to tell me that her temp agency had called her for a job.

I have no reason to believe she was lying, and to do so would not make me any less disappointed. Assuming that she needed the money more than a date with me makes me feel better than if simply came up with an excuse to get out of it. In one scenario she's just poor (like me) and is subject to regrettable timing, and in the other I'm so unattractive that women regret going on a date with me before it even occurs. For the sake of my fragile psyche -- that construct of ego, daddy issues, and low self-esteem, barely held together with defense mechanisms and duct tape -- I'll stick with the scenario in which she needed some quick cash.

So, I went on the date to the Museum of Contemporary Art by myself. It actually wasn't too bad, though I wish the museum was bigger. Afterward, I wandered around downtown for a while. It was nice to get out of the suburbs.

I suppose this is just another life lesson in disappointment. And I guess I could feel pretty sorry for myself (which I did for a few hours yesterday). But after some careful deliberation, I've decided that instead of sorrow or disappointment, I should go with my old standby: apathetic indifference. As I'm sure I've mentioned before, emotions are dumb and it's best if one doesn't have them.