2001-11-18 - 12:29 p.m.

On Friday, I went out with E. for lunch. I'm scared with her--I think she wants more from me than I can give. I really enjoy spending time with her, but every time we talk, she makes me feel bad for not talking to her enough, and despite what I would consider to be adequate discourse on the subject, it hasn't yet been ironed out.

I did some childish subject avoidance, but it was fun too--we ate our lunches by the harbor, where there were tons of seagulls. She had been given an apple with her sandwich, and she didn't want it. I finished eating before her, and started on her apple. Rather than actually eat it, however, I took bites out of the thing and spit them out in my hand, and then threw then at the gulls to eat. I thought it was pretty funny. This practice escalated, and eventually I was spitting apple chunks out of my own mouth and into the mouths of the hungry seagulls. This I found hysterical--a 165 pound, red-headed "momma bird."

Maybe I should have been more "serious" with E., but I don't know how to answer her questions. I played momma bird to remind her of what attracted her to me in the first place--my childish impulsiveness and playfulness. She goes to school and has to be serious all day, and listen to her serious teachers and have study sessions and workshops with a bunch of serious undergrads. It even seems to me like the leisure activities in which she and her friends participate seem organized and structured, like they're going on memory collecting expeditions and they have checklists too.

Shouldn't she have one person in her life that can spit apples into the mouths of birds? Can't she have just one friend who doesn't have to worry about fulfilling a weekly e-mail quota?