Saturdays used to be the day when I saw friends, engaged in discussion, then went home to take my girl friend out to dinner.
And given the joy I had in her company, eating with her and being with her was a sheer pleasure.
I still enjoy her presence. But she is no longer my girl friend.
So most Saturdays now are spent entirely alone.
I have gotten used to the new routine, and it is in many ways pleasant.
Well, relaxing. Okay...... tolerable.
On the whole a little too quiet, a little too solitary.
I need some rambunction!
Get up late. Have coffee and smoke. My roommate (the erstwhile girl friend) will have left the apartment already - a quick peek into her room will confirm that), which means I can waltz around the apartment with a pipe in my mouth, garbed in baggy pajama pants and a wifebeater, humming to myself and occasionally picking my nose, carefree and relaxed.
Picking my nose is just an example - I do not actually pick my nose.
It symbolizes a lack of constraints in an empty apartment.
Please forget about the nose. No noses here.
The main thing is the pipe.
With the windows wide open, the reek will fade before she returns.
She usually gets back in from the morning's volunteer work around eleven-thirty or twelve o'clock, whereupon I flee to the kitchen to avoid having to hear her engage in sickening love-talk with Wheelie Boy on the telephone.
She'll be out again by one at the latest, not to return till late evening.
Shortly after her departure I take a long bath, twiddling my toes in the hot water. While I would love to take a bath with another person, that hasn't happened yet, so instead it's a mystery novel.
Coffee and a cigar. Twiddle twiddle.
Man, I wish this mystery novel were small, vibrant, and witty.
Oh well. Twiddle twiddle.
After my bath today I went down to Chinatown to eat at the restaurant which I mentioned last week.
The one with the waitress who has very pretty hands.
I dislike eating alone, and in a place with mirrors you are never really alone.
Shan't make the mistake I made over twenty five years ago of asking a waitress out on a date. Because of that, there are TWO restaurants which even a quarter of a century later I do not feel comfortable patronizing.
But let's not go there.
Just eat slow, and use the mirrors.
Wish they had a more extensive menu......
I may never find out if she's vibrant and witty.
Food tastes better in company, but only if you want to eat.
Headed to the office, where it is peaceful. Puttered around. Sorted files.
Wondered how that trim little waitress stayed so clean and neat.
Had tea, read e-mail, Dutch newspapers on internet.
More tea. Wikipedia - several subjects.
How this evening ended?
I headed over to the cigar bar, which was probably the only establishment in this city where no one was dressed as Little Bo Peep or Santa's Slut for Halloween this weekend. They don't encourage trashy behaviour, it lacks the rutting frenzy atmosphere.
The women who enter in the evening are mostly well-read, not on the prowl, and confidently self-aware.
Not that there are usually women there. Hardly any, more often than not none after nine o'clock.
It's a comfortable place for smoking two or three pipefulls, and a bit of day-dreaming.
And wondering what a bath with a small, vibrant, witty person might be like.
Which I'm afraid is something that will remain a complete mystery.
I brought four tobaccos with me today, and five pipes.
Plus a profoundly badger-like attitude.
As well as a book to read.
Twiddle twiddle.
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