This morning, I contemplate the active nature of being alone, that we consciously have to exercise our ability to be by ourselves. That it can become habit, even a small addiction, a luxury, to be without another.

I drove home to the sound of someone else’s relationship. It’s comforting to know that the ideals of love are still alive somewhere.

A new exhibit has begun at the Menil Collection. “The Progress of Love explores romantic love, self-love, friendship, familial affect, love of one’s country, and other bonds in and around [Africa]. Though the exhibition is weighted towards art produced specifically about love in Africa, works that might otherwise be considered more “Western” in orientation are included as well, calling attention to the global exchange through which such concepts develop, and to both the shared and distinct aspects of the experience of love.”

A 16-people table at a 24-hour diner that reminded me of La Vie Boheme in Rent.

Restlessness brews restlessness.

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