People You Don’t Even Know Think You Are Amazing

Do I think you are amazing? Yes, I do. In addition, people you don’t even know think you are amazing. Now, how amazing is that?

In particular, I appreciate the fact that I can tell you anything, including the fact that yesterday I tied a garbage bag around my purse to keep it dry on a rainy day and received a compliment from someone about my rad handbag. Yes, this actually happened.

I’m back. My bloggy absence has weighed on you deeply, I’m sure. Maybe a little too much. Seriously, your inability to function without a new post from yours truly—well, it borders on excess. It makes you look needy. It’s not an attractive look for you.

Still, I can understand your addiction to reading about the minutiae of my life. You’re no doubt dying to hear about my inability to light my grill or my favorite font (remagg_cz) or my annoyance at having to replace the cyan ink before I can continue to use blank ink or my attempts to sell my RAV even though it can’t turn left or right, which makes it hard to test drive unless you just zip straight ahead fifty or so feet up the street.

It has been a busy week. Yesterday, for example, I got up at 4:30 a.m., rocked out 3 hours of work, biked to my Heart of the Novel class, spent three hours in class, biked home, did two hours of client work, biked to a meeting, biked back to Lighthouse, attended another three-hour class, biked to Cheryl Strayed’s 90-minute book reading, hauled ass back home in the rain, dried off, and did two more hours of work.

While biking I took the picture above. The words are painted on a big metal box on a street corner. It’s the kind of box that contains electricity or a secret sewer entrance or bomb shelter supplies. Or telephone wires or water pipes or Internet technology. Can I be more specific? You wish. Listen, I just told you that people you don’t even know think you’re amazing. I think that should be sufficient.