or, the Case of the $30 Strip Steak.

“You look like you’ve found Nirvana.  I mean, you have to be getting some: I don’t know anybody who looks that sublime after steak,” she says, sitting back down at the cafe table where she is polishing silverware.

I shrug.  “I don’t remember ever feeling this satiated – not full, but satiated – in my entire life,” I explain.  “It was a magic combination of steak, mousse, coffee, and cigarette.”

On the basis of the fact that I radiate sublime peace, Lauren seems to have made the connection that I am getting a whole lot of action.  I mean, if by action we are talking $30 New York strip steaks with crab jambalaya sauce, then yes, I have been getting a lot of action.  Really now, I feel better today than I have in the past month of being sick.  But apparently a key component of my bliss – that is, not caring about a damn thing – also seems to have done me in.  It’s not as though I really care, it’s just that I think I made her cry at work.   (She asked if I was still attached.  I said no.  It’s not that I don’t care about her, it’s just that I don’t care about her romantically.)

This makes me wonder about the difference between apathy and discipline.  (Or is it asininity and discipline?)  I realized early on in life that after separating oneself from another’s self after the disintegration of a relationship, one should also emotionally separate oneself from another’s self.  It’s not personal, it’s just healthier.  Am I a dick, or am I just self-affirming and mature?

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