I see them so plainly now, each crack in the sidewalk that tripped me up last year. Walking down the hill, my feet know where to go without thinking anymore. My knees are remarkably healthy at this point. I do have a huge burn on my side, coinciding with emotional pain like a metaphor. One moment of absent-mindedness taking weeks to heal. I can still see the thin line of 2nd degree in the middle. A crusty coin slot big enough for a quarter. Forcing a smile through the pain and doing yoga daily, I have a chance to gain productivity in the face of outright depression.

The problem with Seattlers is their need to be different. The most uptight part of the west coast, the PNW is basically a collection of predominantly white suburbs just like the rest of the country. Hinging their image on social progress, Seattle itself is becoming a sterile nest for the wealthy. It doesn’t matter how many people show up to march for a cause if they are ignoring the layers of vagrancy throughout downtown. The poor, crippled people falling through cracks in our system while another condominium goes up across the street. I didn’t come to Seattle so I could change. I’m here as an agent of change.

I put on heels last night and made sure I wasn’t alone. One intentional appointment to hug a good person led to an interesting form of mayoral debate at Neumos. I instagrammed quite a bit of it, paying particular hashtag attention to the crowd favorite, Nikita Oliver. The farcical game show theme only held my attention through one round but I learned something important about local politics – serving alcohol improves voter turnout. Hope for the future continues to bloom.

I went by the Narwhal for pinball and randomly bumped into two old friends. Not living in Seattle more than 2 years yet, it’s surreal to have people I can describe as friends. Some of them have even known me for decades, in a way. I’m a loyal person and time isn’t linear, so it feels like I’ve know some people all their lives. The boys are showing their buddy Cap Hill. A navy man from San Diego, it’s his last night in town. As far as I’m concerned the only thing missing is a silver platter. A round of jello shots and 3 bars later, the officer asks to be my gentleman. The rest is in the script.