March 31, 2024:
"You've mellowed," she said in her mincing way, with pursed lips, an antagonizingly false judgement which set back our attempted rapprochement another month or two.
She was without insight, without tact, patronizing in her absence of self-awareness, lacking apparent regard for or understanding of what my feelings might be. I was certainly no better. Emphatically not.
I wanted us to know each other. She didn't. In the end we ran out of time.