Living

Pittsburgh, PA

I just read through a super-important document I’d written late last year, and man was it terribly written. Jeez. Way too emotionally invested, which hurt the message and the quality. I don’t know if I could’ve helped it at the time.
Sitting in a cafe. Dancing Queen comes on. Five tables around me are singing it. I love today.
Whenever I shave, I keep nicking myself because of my super sharp jawline and my preference for old-school tools. Am I shifting my shoulders to the left, and then back to the right while looking coy suffering from success?
I lack a good word for this, so we’ll say it pisses me off that the time to learn how to live overlaps with actually living. This is bad design. I need to make enough mistakes to know what I want and what I need and what I value, and pass an exam on those so my brain is like a cache for my heart, and only then should I be allowed to live.
I’ve been ending a lot more of my sentences with “I don’t care” lately. It’s relaxing. It’s had the same effect that turning on read receipts had for me: open loops close quickly and don’t turn into a headache, and that makes me feel nicer about the people in my phone (who are obviously not the same people I meet in real life, but somehow have the same names and everything).
I think I should grow a moustache.
Thinking of a “reminders” list where I basically just write down little phrases I come across that remind me of someone or someplace. I suppose I like making lists.
Put a bookshelf together! Everyone pat me on the back.
I miss having a Bluetooth speaker.
It’s snowing outside, and I mean, I can see tires digging into snow now. This is really pretty, and kind of terrifying because I haven’t bothered to get snow boots yet. Gulp.
Talking to a friend and realizing that there’s likely a finite amount of time left before we can no longer have this kind of conversation with each other.
Got an email from the local library asking me to return the book I’d borrowed. It was an okay book; I just like being part of a library. Don’t get me wrong, Blossoms in Bangalore is good and Champaca is beautiful (these are not the same thing; going to Champaca is the gold standard of performative reading, but you do need that sometimes), but bookstores in general cannot compare with a real, proper, massive, organized, stone-building-with-computers-on-every-floor library.
Don’t really feel like going out today. Will probably stay in and just do some fall cleaning (is that a thing?).