I decided to try blogging on an iPad that has an attached magnetic keyboard. Other than rocking on my thigh because I’m in a comically oversized armchair, it seems like a pretty good set up and that my guesses for it were correct.

Coffee shop blogging or in the lounge club with pulsing dance music? Who’s to say. pic.twitter.com/0O8FXQGeyh

— k cool (@katelikestoread) January 9, 2020

I’m trying out Ground Control on 8th Avenue in Manhattan, which I’ve never been to before. It’s loud so I need focus but the furniture in the back is just as cozy as I’d hoped.

This iPad is Jason’s (my spouse) and I charged it up for a whole day because the battery was so fatigued and out of use. I have not updated it to show my Messages. I am not logged into my email. There are no social media apps on it, although I did pop open my Twitter profile to snag the above embed code. I closed most of the...

We’re going to the theatre tonight; previews for a very modern adaptation of WesSide Story from a director we’ve seen before (Network last year). That might be one of the most privileged New Yorky sentences I’ve written in awhile and it’s true. A friend (the artist) pointed out to me yesterday that we are “now in the class of people who buy pieces from a gallery for their home.” All true and surreal for me and accepted.

I started with a lot of good blue collar circumstances and tripped upward into more and more privilege. I hope I use it and the income that comes with it to do more. I’ve never had a problem along the way with getting taxed. If anything I want to contribute more when I think about my public education, my state paid full tuition scholarship for my bachelor’s degree, the subsidies from my roads and the train and everything else. I’m still startled by people that seem to...

Today is December 27, 2019 and I’ve read 14 books to date this year. While I’ve sought to get some range or shift directions with genres and tones through the year, this was the first year I set out with a deliberate goal: do not read any cis white men this year.

After an “ouch, the racism is grossly overt” start in a Christie mystery I found up my block, I went on a pretty good roll for most of the year. I really slowed down in July, August, and September. Work got hectic, and my brain felt overheated which made reading for pleasure or interest a lot harder.

In order:

• Agatha Christie’s A Caribbean Mystery
• Michelle Obama’s Becoming
• Ta-Nehisi Coate’s We Were Eight Years in Power
• R.O. Kwon’s The Incendiaries
• Hanif Abdurraqib’s They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us
• Emma Straub’s The Vacationers
• Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch
• Busy Philipps’s This Will Only Hurt A Little
• Caroline...

I’ve spent two hours in a nice coffee shop I’d only ever popped into for a coffee on the go. It has levels in it for varied seating. They’ve been playing Carly Rae Jepsen and Ariana Grande albums, to my delight and contrast against rickety wood tables and cast iron railings.

I plopped down on the ripped cushions after dropping my bag at the laundromat, the only person in the place besides the Korean owner, for just a brief moment. She chuckled at me carrying the bag alone and in heels.

I carried my laptop and two books here in a crossbody tote. I finished the final 40 pages of a book I voraciously gobbled the first half of weeks ago. I had an apple walnut muffin with another type of fruit at its core that I really don’t remember. I got my second/bonus drink after finishing the book and before writing on my laptop (now, I’m talking about right now). I got an email confirming that Jason...

I went to bed early enough after reading that I was actually well rested when I woke. One of the cats was batting at my feet under the covers, gripping the sides of my toes, gentle enough that no claws dug in.

I jumped into my jeans and sweater to walk with my spouse to the bagel shop, since we’re out of yogurt for his usual morning breakfast. We’re also out of milk, so many of my home coffee preparations were out. This way I get a few extra minutes to say hello since I’ve been drowsy all morning.

We hold hands and regret not wearing sunglasses. It’s bright and a crossing guard helps caution us as we skitter across the end of our busy block. Two dogs are walking the street with a woman who is chatting to them, one speckled part dalmatian.

We part ways just before my café of choice. We stop in front of a vacant store front for a long kiss and so I can wish a positive happy week since...

It’s a little hard to say. Why ever?

I’ll be the first to admit it’s strange being a young, married woman online.

For a long time I said that I didn’t need a blog because I didn’t have anything original to add to discourse. If I say something, at least it’s new, if not original. There’s still lots of merit to something new.

Other spaces have seemed a little small, showy, biting, consuming. I write things all the time, but not in a very rewarding, relieving, revealing way. This is still framed in the idea of reacting to something. It assumes my thoughts are responsive.

I hope that this will feel different for me. No pressure. Reflecting on anything I like. Giving my mind some space to breathe.

My life, as I’m sure yours is, has been really frenetic the last three years. I haven’t stopped to catch a breath until this past autumn. The air filling me up is still searing, hard, fresh...