Morning Pages, June 12, 2018

The stove handle dug slightly into my back. It wasn’t uncomfortable, I just felt it. I’d put my hand on it before, but it gave. Something about it was weak. Any real downward pressure would dislodge it, and one side would swing down, and it would make the most ungodly noise, direct all eyes in this direction, and I’d ruin the whole party. Maybe I’d keep this in my back pocket as a plan for later. I hoped I was the only one who recognized this weak point.

I’d been camping on this spot for two cycles. First, Finn caught up with me about her job. I barely understood it, a confetti of techno-babble and six sigma spaghetti. She seemed stressed and overworked and not drunk enough. I helped and handed her two as she stood with me, my arm just a little closer to one of the coolers on the other side of the stove.

You’re a good enabler,” she told me.

That’s what casual friends who only see each other during intense dramatic moments in their life do,” I said.

You still don’t know shit about women,” she said.

June 12, 2018