The days of trusting my gut are only beginning and no one can make me second guess those decisions anymore. Having a good time doesn’t happen in just one place. This artificial time delineation is the easiest to wrap my tiny human brain around. New Year’s Day feels fresher after all the parties instead of hungover, like the day after Halloween. For the next month I’ll do at least two things every day. Yoga and writing. Forcing my thoughts out into the open is the only way to flush out good ideas. The yoga is for my sanity.

Last night’s long-held party plans evaporated in a poof of miscommunication and bad timing. Honestly, I didn’t fight that hard to rectify the situation. The party was at a place I’d never been with people I don’t know. When advertised as an open invite situation it sounded like fun. When the host decided to uninvite people he doesn’t personally know it threw up some red flags. If the location were closer to home or I knew more the guests it would have been a different situation. I’m tired of being new meat at parties with strangers. As it is, I hung out with someone that actually knows me and had a wonderful time comfortably watching fireworks from his 4th floor window.

Walking around Seattle I don’t recognize some of the places I see every day. People’s opinions slither around the sidewalk looking for targets without stopping for me. I’m immune to their input in this city where I live alone. They can’t think worse things than what’s already in my head. Hauling these horrific images of reality around on the tenuous layer of delusions driving me forward. I want to get the story started before optimism rips apart and I lose shreds of motivation. Or worse. I might meet a person that shows me enough love and affection to derail the entire plan. While a tragic loss to art as a concept, I might not complain too loudly.