I’m tired today. I like to write at my desk, but today I’m on the couch with my laptop. I don’t feel much like moving. This might be an unusual post, but I’m just going to note some observations from where I sit and see where it takes me. Might go nowhere? Doesn’t matter.
I’m still wearing my jacket after coming in from walking the dog. It’s a denim jacket I bought as part of an outfit to attend the Stranger Things experience at Secret Cinema in London. It’s getting chilly in the Bay Area, so I’m wearing a cardigan underneath. I feel cozy; it feels nice.
Our dog, Cacio, is curled up next to me on the couch. I always think that she looks like a little cashew nut, which—coincidentally—is what people believe her name is (because why Cacio, if not for her brother Pepe). We walked to meet my wife at the BART station—which we do most nights—as she traveled back from her San Francisco office.
When our dog spots my wife, she can’t contain her excitement. She tap dances and hops around with joy; her tail wags so ferociously it causes her whole body to wiggle. I love it so much. Strangers suddenly start to beam—huge grins replacing their previously-glum expressions.
The drawer to my left is maybe one-third open, and when I raise my eyes a little I notice a kitchen cupboard that’s about one-fifth ajar. Both of these are signs that my wife has opened and almost-closed them. A curiosity that I’ve come to love; I like being reminded of her.
In between those two sights is a large bouquet of flowers that my father bought for us before he left town and headed back to England. It was kind. I love flowers, and so does my wife. A few years ago I ordered my wife flowers for valentines day whilst on a flight to Los Angeles, and accidentally started a monthly subscription. I haven’t cancelled it, because they make her happy, and that makes me happy.
Behind the flowers I can see that the big light is on in my office. I hate the big light, but I must have turned it on for something. My urge to turn it off is going to be the thing that makes me get off my cozy spot on the couch. Now I really hate the big light. I’ll give it a few minutes.
My desk pad is on the coffee table in front of me; a little Midori number glued on two edges. I’m introducing myself at the company all hands in the morning, and I was sent a few questions that I’ll answer.
What did I do before joining Medium? What’s my role at Medium? What’s my favorite publication? Any fun hobbies? Favorite advice I’ve heard? I’ll be posting this on Medium, so I won’t add spoilers. Maybe I’ll write the answers down later. Then again, maybe I won’t.
I like talking, but I’m not sure if I like talking about myself. I like talking about ideas. I like talking about other people. I wonder if I can talk about ideas whilst pretending that I’m talking about myself?
There was something meditative in writing this; grounding. A sort of mundane nothingness. I was almost bored writing it, but the good kind of bored. A quiet contentment, maybe, more-so than boredom. A strange little treat to myself, and a strange little experience for you.