Guy near me at the bar commenting on the rich flavor textures he detects in his beer. Rolled my eyes so hard I started having a staring contest with my own pulsating optic nerve.
I graduated from college five years ago today.
I’m a little less staggeringly wealthy and insanely famous than I would have expected to be by this point.
The front of this bookstore is pretty much all window and I have a good view of a pretty typical Washington DC street.
The best thing I’m seeing right now is an older lady in white pants and pink shirt who has just parked her red car. She is reading the words written on the parking meter. Clearly she is trying to figure out if she needs to put money in on a Sunday or some such question and an ambiguity of some type has emerged.
She sort of did this look around her motion after stooping over the meter as if to like look for someone who could explain away the ambiguity of the parking meter text. For a second I feared she’d come in and ask me a question but she doesn’t seem to be doing that. The world aint easy for old ladies or for people trying to park legally in this city—to be both has gotta be a nightmare.
There are lots of cars all stopped on the street I see through my window. It’s a one way street and there’s a red light very close by, so there are moments when the cars clump up and then there are moments when the light turns green and everyone in the clump goes free. Right now they’re clumped up.
That lady is gone now. Don’t know if she put money in the meter. Missed the ending of that.
The third thing I see out my window is the fold out plastic sign I always put out on the sidewalk that has an arrow towards the book store. The sign says BOOK SALE. It’s supposed to get people into our bookstore. Mostly, it just blows over in the wind and I have to go set it up again. It doesn’t even matter if it’s windy out, wind always shows up and blows my sign over. I can see it sort of quivering now. It will fall over with a loud slap at some inconvenient moment in the very near future.
There are little kids in my bookstore right now.
Their parents brought them.
And they’re making noise.
The noise makes me grumpy.
I find myself thinking: I hate kids and I hate parents.
Also, happy Mother’s Day!
Taylor Swift concert is about to happen next to the bar I’m at.
It’s like they’re having a Why Not To Have a Daughter convention.
Happy mothers day.
My favorite lady I ever met is visiting me tomorrow.
She’s my mom. I used to live inside her.
Basically this bitch and I go way back.
She’s my heart.
Friday is brought to you by Queen Amy.
The petty duties of modern living, fucking grocery shopping.
Rolling my eyes at the way I roll my eyes at basic adult life.
Remember riding your bike places as a kid? Better than any car. Bike freedom.
Good thing I don’t take myself too seriously. Fucking life is a cold dark night. What an asshole. Whatever, it was sincere, ya jerks.
Life is a cold dark night and you really have to work hard to be aware and grateful for the warmth and light that shows up for you. Man, I am a fuck up. Like, for real, a genuine fuck up. But I sometimes have nights like bonfires. So many friends and so much light and warmth that I don’t give a fuck about morning. I get everything I ever wanted and I get it often. I just think about the last thing Raymond Carver ever wrote:
And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.