  Chris and I e-mailed back & forth about going riding together—sometime. Weather report for Sunday looked ideal to me. Sunday morning I wrote: “It’s 8:18am. I’ll be leaving the house around 10-10:30. Call if you can make it.” 10:45 I hit the road, and it is a gorgeous day for a ride. Get down to the tippy-tip of Manhattan and check my messages, return call. I find a shady spot, crack open a book (looks like a winner, by the way), and wait for my new friend to join me. ******************************************** I think I’m getting more comfortable with rambling, with running off at the mouth around people I’m just getting to know.
Or maybe it’s just that I call it “running off at the mouth” because it’s not some serious discussion, debate, or capital-C-Conversation, as if capital-C-Conversation was what was called for on a sunny Sunday afternoon, rather than running off at the mouth. (Does it seem like I’ve completely switched topics? Going from the middle of describing the event to evaluating my overall performance? Whatever. The rest of the ride was pleasantly uneventful. Or maybe uneventfully pleasant. And whatever it was, the experience ultimately was destined primarily to be a social lesson for Cynthia.
) I’m almost ready to say that it’s because if it turns out that my ramblings are uninteresting, it’s because I’m feeling uninspired, and if I someone doesn’t inspire me (enough, at least, for me remain convinced of my own wit and brilliance), then we needn’t spend a whole lot of time together, need we? That looks so good on paper, somebody please tell me that that’s true. 
