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Today I wake up late, cancel all of my appointments, and read Josep Pla’s The Gray Notebook in bed. I feel like I’m sitting with a kind of sadness, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling. I feel emotionally spent, or perhaps not spent but raw. Emotion is returning to me.

I have been neglecting it.

Last night I went on a date at the Dundas West Street Festival. We walked up and down Dundas, talking and stopping to watch the music… The street was full of activity, completely transformed, full of patios built out to the end of sidewalks and criss-crossed with revellers. The night had an intimate, homely quality. I had a good time, talking to my date about books and writing and what it’s like for her to be a social worker. I felt pulled someplace, someplace perhaps nicer than where I currently am, but something was pulling me in the opposite direction, too, telling me that perhaps it was too soon but to do anything but float on the wind.

I don’t know what I want, but the sadness that I feel right now is strange and overwhelming, and that it is overwhelming my ability to decide anything for myself is probably all the answer I need. I keep waiting for other people to clarify my desire for me, a strange position I haven’t been in since I was teenager. But I felt desire, too, stirring somewhere deep in a pile of books and disordered bedclothes… a desk cramped with papers and tax forms and pens and tech.

I’m moving slowly this morning, fresh and unsure.

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