Backing Into Wisdom

There are many things I do not know. Enough that, according to Socrates, I'd be considered pretty wise. Lately, the list has a lot to do with why humans, particularly those of the boyish persuasion, behave the way they do. I don't think these are among the sorts of things to which Socrates' rule applies, however. At least, I don't feel particularly wise for not understanding them.

One day passes after I write the above, and now this.

An email from the blonde. A casual, friendly email. I'd say I am stumped, but the truth is, right before I opened up that email account, I said to myself, oh I'll just check; maybe there'll be an email from the blonde.

Clearly my psychic powers are still operating on all eight.

What to do, what to do. Annabelle said to wait a day. Boywich said Annabelle is right, and offered to try and translate the boy-speak. (Really. Isn't he funny? Though he was drunk and didn't do too well with the latter half of our conversation.)

I wrote a quick draft of a response and let it sit. I was cordial and noncommittal, because that was how I was feeling. (And surprised.)

But I didn't feel like playing all these strategy games, because, well, that's not who I am. Even when I maybe should be. So I sent it. A few hours after I'd written it, but that was primarily a Boywich delay (we talked for 3 hours), who, still retaining his own psychic prowess, has also begun IMing me the moment I started writing about him.

Anyway, the list of things I don't understand about boys is getting to resemble Santa's list at this point, what with the aforementioned development, and the fact that the fellow I had that (I thought) really good date with last week hasn't called me since.

Possible explanations: a) he didn't think the date was so great; b) he just wanted to sleep with me, and the fact that I declined to come up to his apt. meant he was writing me off; c) he has somehow missed the memo that if you don't call, girls get the idea that you aren't interested.

On the other side of the coin, here are things I do understand:

1. Exactly what Shirley Horn is talking about when she discusses the peculiar beauty of the post-gig jam session.
2. Most of what astrophysicists are talking about.
3. The wisdom of the very old and the very young.
4. Why horses and dogs love to run really fast.
5. Much of what matters and what doesn't.

I do not, on the other hand, understand why the caged bird sings. If I were the caged bird, I would put my energy toward smashing those bars.

PS. Those are Annabelle's Mittens up there. The highly observant (anal) among you will notice that one is longer than the other. That is not because I miscounted the rows, but rather because I had enough yarn left to make them a little longer and had only reknit one of them when I decided to take the photo.
PSdeux. These pics are pocketcam (not bad for a pipsqueak, right?) because my one true love (Nikon) was out of battery when I turned it on. Yeah, I agree. It sounds dirty. Don't worry; he's all recharged and raring to go again.