Six months ago, I was starting, waving familiarity goodbye from the window of the plane I almost didn’t catch on my way to San Diego, where the next morning I would begin my attempt at hiking the Pacific Crest Trail in its entirety.
Jonny discusses a new project, a phenomenal epic book, a quirky tv show, and the live musical that brought back great childhood memories.
Vacations have been a rarity for me lately. Folks will comment that my new freelance life seems to give me a freedom to “go places,” but a lot of that coming and going involves family, odd jobs, or a little day hike around the area.
Ok well I haven’t been writing much. I was on a roll with this project and got stopped in my tracks when I couldn’t find Jay-Z’s album free to stream anywhere. Meaning it wasn’t on Spotify.
I was in the midst of a big disposable camera phase when my friends and I went to Coachella.
It’s funny because today I had every intention of hanging out with my girlfriends, something I almost never do and have almost never done on a regular basis. I do everything with Cameron most weekends, but I wanted to switch it up and also I’m trying really hard to try to have friends.
This week’s update starts with a heart felt apology for the absence of last week’s edition. My personal computer went on the fritz for several days, leaving me feeling naked and afraid, lost and befuddled, hopeless and helpless.
I tend to cringe when people ask me what I’m doing these days. 99% of the time, they are asking about my chosen profession, a subject I’ve never been too thrilled to discuss to begin with. I’d rather be discussing the great new tacos I had at a local dive, or the hilarious sketch from last week’s SNL, or my ongoing obsession with 70s game shows.
My sophomore year of college, I thought I’d be totes adorbs and write a weekly email to friends. It’s honestly a lazy man’s way of keeping people informed on what he’s doing. So essentially, a blog. Here I am, older and definitely not wiser, falling into my lax ways and giving you facts and details of daily life.
“Sawah, how many are you?” Morgan asked me from the back seat.
I glanced in the rearview mirror to initiate the eye contact necessary when trying to communicate with a four-year-old, but Cooper interrupted before I could open my mouth.
“I know how many you are, Sawah!” he shouted from the way back. “Thuwteen.”
I’m listening to this album a day late because by the time I got home last night and scrolled down to discover my homework was a three-disc Bob Dylan tome of a record, I had used up all my self-discipline for the day and preferred to spend the last hours of my evening scrolling through Instagram on the couch and then reading by book about the periodic table of the elements in bed, in silence.
I used to find absurd the idea that I would write at night, after work.
“I’m a writer,” I’d tell people, and they’d at some point in the conversation mention their assumption that I must write at night.