Here We Go
So I have parked myself at a small round wicker table on the top floor of Joe Bar here in Capitol Hill, Seattle. Front wall is all window, rainbow pride flag hanging in the middle. The shop is old—not dusty-and-smelly old, but the texture of the bumpy walls and the older chairs and tables tell a different story. It’s like the shop was lifted out of a thrift shop. People sit around scrolling through their propped-up tablets and munch on various baked grains. All men here have two of the following three: tattoo sleeves, skinny jeans, and headgear.
I have none of those three and so have decided to exile myself to the second floor. More of a loft, really. The floor up here is chafed and peeled like an old woman’s forearms. The table’s small size and height force me to manspread around it so I can slouch comfortably. I’ve just finished journaling about the best and worst things that happened to me yesterday.
I cannot tell you what this blog will consist of. Thoughts often bubble up and I thumb em into my Notes app immediately. This blog is, to me, a means of sharing those thoughts with whomever has the time to tune in.
Anyhoo.
Some sample thoughts that I figured I’d share with all like four of you:
“There's a lot of freedom in treating the world as your brain's toilet.”
“Bad opening Tinder line: ‘Hey, are you chill?’”
Some people are so scared of the world that they create their own smaller worlds and hide. They do this from nine am to five pm most of the week.
The worst conversations are those where you just trade facts.
"Isn't it, like, weird, that babies are gonna have Instagram stories some day?"
Imagine a world in which doctors assess your muscular and spinal health by watching you perform a lengthy dance sequence.