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.