I need a new fun writing project. #spagkus were amazing, and I want something to keep me focused on the creative. So I”ll start with scratch notes for now.
Typing with my right index finger sucks. I wonder if people using keyboards for the first time felt as undignified as this. Though typewriters to keyboards has a few obvious benefits. Finger typing leads me to think of Idiocracy of a prophecy.
I don’t recall New Orleans buses. I think of the streetcar as NOLA public transportation. In Denver, the buses and I have bonded. It helped that in November it was freezing (literally) and the bus was kept at low income temperatures. They welcomed me into their whooshing doors and cradled my frozen body, allowing me a place to keep hydrating.
I appreciate the color of Denver buses. At least the 83L. They are standard bus silvers, but the seats are cushioned with a bold, plaid, geometric sort of pattern. It matches everything and nothing, making the contrasting people pop. Black women who sit in close quarters, tapping weaves. Middle aged white men, maybe sharing cars with wives and grown children. A nun next to a teenage boy, who maybe should be in school at 8:20am. The strong-stomached who can read as we bounce down Alameda.
My view is blocked by oversized announcements about fee rates and good bus etiquette. I steal glances at parks and trees around the edges of red Helvetica. There is something to these urban secret gardens that makes me feel good about my home. Memories of lurking around Governor Nicholls with Shway, spying whispered fountains through ally gates. The shade and magnolia scent of humid August mornings draws my heart home. The mountains provide clear skies, and the air is crisp, even in heat. At home the air curls up over your shoulders, winding in and out of long hair, frizzing out space to reside until air conditioning evicts its gutterpunk ass. I miss it. I might just be too obnoxious for direct mountain air….
I work in Aurora, which is a lower income suburb of Denver. Lots of liquor stores.
I enjoy Cap Hill. More than the Highlands, which I did enjoy. I think the Highlands is a little too clean, though. I need to feel closer to parts of town that smell like urine. Another result of home being so near the Quarter, maybe?
Working in an office makes me appreciate Wednesdays. I know at that point that I did make it to real life three days in a row, so of course I can do the measly two left for the week. Working in an office also makes me appreciate lunch. Like with most jobs I’ve held, the true joy comes in at the point of exit. Walking out of that door, hearing the blinds displace momentarily into the wooden frame…it stores in my soul as an attempt to counter the crushing effect those same blinds have when I enter the office. As if their clunking lulls my will to feel life around me. They rhythmically intone shushes and mantras of “All people work in society. You are a people. You can do this, too.” I don’t know if I believe those blinds….