If you know, you know
Hello friends, from the beautiful blue state of Ohio.
I started the day with a coffee and grocery run, stretching my legs and taking in the crisp November air. No music, no podcast. Just the whisper of rustling leaves and the hum of traffic. I strolled by the library, noticed a barbershop I might check out in a week or two.
Walking by the community center where I cast my vote on Tuesday, I smiled.
Once a month, I swear to God I’m done with writing. I tell myself the old internet is dead and there’s no reviving it. I delete whatever medium I’m desperately clinging to for attention or relevance or the tingle of aspiration I once felt in the presence of a cool, self-possessed internet personality and promise to dedicate my precious time and attention to literally anything else. I’ve been on the internet for two decades — surely, I’ve run out of things to say.
And I was so serious this time. Morning pages? Out of here. Journaling? Motherfucker, for what?
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If one must watch their team get mollywhopped in the late innings, it’s best done from a company-sponsored suite. Stand Guard 2027, I guess.
So… I have no hair on my head.
As much as I love a dramatic hair moment, this wasn’t the plan. My barber sliced his hand open, leaving me to the wolves the week of my birthday. With an event to attend and determined to end year 43 with a clean line-up, I took a chance.
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My birthday is in nine days, yet I can’t summon a story about the last year of my life. I guess this is aging. One day bleeds into another without a clear heroine’s arc. As someone who strives to live artfully, I don’t love it. But, such is life.
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