I sing about that - woah, Love is a breed of madness
Sing about it in all my sadness
Not falsifyin to say that I found God
So inevitably well it still exists, pale and fine
I can't dismiss and I won't resist and if I die, well at least I tried

Actually, the real lyrics are "Love is a brittle madness", but "Love is a breed of madness" resounds much better with me. Jason Mraz writes excellent lyrics.

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I went to my philosophy teacher (from now on we'll call him Bill)'s house to give him some stuff to write my rec letter with. He lives in the heart of the Mission in SF. It is such a populated neighborhood; I am not used to having so many people around all the time. There's so much going on. It's a whole different mentality. I kind of like it. I'd like to try living in a city sometime.

He lives in this nice dark wood Victorian walk-up, a very pretty house. I was wondering what his place would be like. I used to expect that older people's houses would be neat and clean; then I came to know some adults with houses as messy and cluttered as mine. So his, I wasn't sure. He presents himself well, and with his personality I guessed that his house would be classy, warm, and nice. That is, if, on a part-time teacher's salary, he had the money to spend on making his house the way he wanted it.

When I got there, he invited me up for a second while we talked. Partly, I think, because I looked pointedly up the stairs and craned my neck in curiosity. He actually sounded a little nervous to show me the place. He lives with three other men, whom I assume are around his age because their house is neat. And masculinely beautiful. Imagine that. A house full of single males (at least one of them straight) who can decorate and clean up after themselves. Even their kitchen is nice. Hallelujah this human race is redeemed.

Hee hee... as we were walking up the long flight of stairs, me ahead of him, I was talking about how I liked his neighborhood, and he took a distracted second to reply--I think he was lookin at my butt.

I realize that I have certain reflexes to intimacy that don't come naturally to a lot of people. When I first stepped in to say hi, my right arm automatically lifted slightly in anticipation of a hug; when it didn't come I didn't quite know what to do with my hand. It didn't have anything specifically to do with how I'm attracted to him, it was just the reflex. And then, well, I practically started walking up the stairs without being invited. Now that, I realize, could be a bad habit, but it was just like, there was standing room, then stairs up. I couldn't see any of the house, and that was weird to me. Usually you can at least look around, get a read. And in my culture, the culture of Delphi, if anyone is at your house to conduct some business, you automatically take them at least one room in from the foyer. Or at least to the nearest piece of furniture. Why? I don't know. If anyone other than a salesman is at your house, it seems rude to stay near the doorway.

And I'm just one to assume that harmless curiosity is permitted. Like if I'm in a room, I will naturally gravitate to things, pick stuff up off the dresser (being sure to put if back exactly where it was), inspect the bookshelf, touch the furniture. But some people don't do that, and that is a big question mark to me. How could you not gather that information about your environment and your present company? I assume that if it's out-of-drawers, interaction is allowed.

Oh, haha. That doesn't always apply.

He showed me his room last, and as I looked about me he sort of lingered and swayed like a little kid, doot de doo doo do you like it? His desk was cluttered enough to be human,and his chair was pointed out towards the window. I like that.

So after discussing the letter, as he walked me out, he asked me if I would tour the neighborhood, and I was like, no, I'm taking my parents to a gallery opening in Alameda, and he was like Oh cool. So we clasped hands, he reminded me to remind him on Monday to send it, and he said again with a nervous laugh that I should keep in touch; and I said with a nervous laugh that Sure. And I sort of la la laaed back to the car.

It's hard not to la-laa anytime I talk to him. I figure that's good, that's okay. There is still an air of impossiblity about this man that keeps me in check. As an older man, he seems almost too attractive and classy for a little sprite like me. But if I'm lucky, he thinks I'm almost too effervescent and cool for an old dude like him. And that would make a double-negative. Not nobody likes me.

10:35 p.m. 2004-05-07�