on howell & minor

i’m in the lobby of some fancy schmancy downtown seattle office building. i think it’s called metropolitan park. or metropolitan place. or metropolitan north. whatever it is, they want you to know it’s metropolitan. there’s a revolving door in the lobby and it’s windy outside, which together creates a miniature revolving windstorm as one makes their way through the doors. about a third of the people feel the need to exclaim as they stand in the lobby folding up their dripping umbrellas and readjusting their hats. these individuals are mostly middle-aged women with short haircuts, practical trench coats, and rolling backpacks. the sheer intensity of their exhilaration breaks my heart. like they’re desperately in need of some real adventure. and i so badly want to take them by the hand, hop into the nearest cab, and put them on the first plane to morocco. but instead, i watch as their sensible pumps and rolling backpacks echo down the hallway, and they step into elevators that will deliver them to their places of duty.

please, god, don’t let this be me. everyone that knows me knows that the only thing i find more depressing than the economy are the people wringing their hands over it. i believe the rate of unemployment is directly related to the percentage of people who have the potential to improve their lives. how glorious is it to have such an expanse of time to dream and imagine without monday morning boring its ugly head into our dreams? oh, i don’t have any solutions. i’m having this guy read my tarot and astrology chart next thursday, and i’m hoping to get a little clarity. it’s 300 bucks, but he’s supposed to really good, and besides it’s a small price to pay for a little clarity. i’ll be honest: once again, i’m paralyzed by my oldest friend, indecision.