Home at last, with time enough to write. Still busy, errands, etc.

I took a short walk before going home by bus from down­town. The bars and clubs are still busy from the big game, and the streets were over­flow­ing with crushes of short-sleeved, tight-fitting peo­ple. I walked by the canal, and it was beau­ti­fully lit on one side from street lamps, com­plete with spher­i­cal fixtures.

A few peo­ple tried to get me to go out, but my fatigue would have pre­vented me from hav­ing a good time. One of the peo­ple was fairly adamant in hav­ing me at the club. As flat­ter­ing as it was, I quickly grew tired of being harassed. On the other hand, another per­son asked, and it was the first time that I didn’t feel both­ered about being asked to go out. I think the dis­tinc­tion lies in the fact that the for­mer per­son gave off the impres­sion that she knew bet­ter than me about how good a time I would have (which is how I find I’m usu­ally asked out), whereas the lat­ter seemed more dis­ap­pointed than any­thing that I couldn’t go.