Good timing for a car to backfire.
I swear Portland’s a really safe city, though.
Good timing for a car to backfire.
I swear Portland’s a really safe city, though.
As a person who has written a good amount of fiction (even if very, very few of you have ever read any of it), you’re always thinking about how the story is going to continue from where you are. How the characters are going to change and grow. What comes next.
Writing purposefully about my life, as it happens, doesn’t make me immune from thinking about this project in similar terms.
How am I going to live in different patterns if I can’t keep myself from writing about my life in different patterns?
Once again, I find myself discussing my habits without saying that I think they’re correct or good. Seeing them is the first step towards any sort of change, though.
I am surrounded by places I love. This is going to be a good home base.
Blackwell’s on 41st Avenue in Portland, Oregon.
On the one hand, I appreciate the ways in which sports can bring people together.
On the other, as incredibly self-involved as I may be, there is nothing I give a shit about that I assume random passers-by on the street give enough of a shit about to tell them about it, unprovoked and unasked.
The simple joy of coffee on a cool, rainy autumn day.
No, crow. This is my pizza. You can’t have it.
Some bicycle maintenance and upgrading are probably in order if I’m going to ride around this winter.
And trust me, I am.
Today I had a moment that reminded me not to judge people based on their appearances.
Sometimes I worry that if I don’t slow down, something is going to force me to.
It rarely makes me change my plans, though.