The old Portland can’t come to the phone right now.
Short vignettes on “how it’s been.”
Every time I drive into the city, there’s more garbage on the side of the road. There’s always another graffiti sign cursing out the mayor. Another stop sign or metal road marker is cut down every time I look.
I listen to podcast stories about how the country has been over-stored and over-restauranted for years. My favorite restaurant is closed tight. It is one of six restaurants owned by the same person’s group, which is based in San Francisco.
I think of a Halloween City coworker who was between places to live because she was on the run from an insane parent.
A friend of mine who lives in downtown Portland mentions one week that she’s thinking of moving. Two weeks later, she’s fled to her parent’s house in rural California.
Meetings for my city council are resuming again. I don’t want to go. I worry about everyone and, as always, I withdraw from investing in people when things look sketch in the world.
My mother-in-law has a fall, pulling a chair over her and spilling water filled with turtle feces all over her. She stays overnight in the hospital and has no injuries.
I crave beautiful things, and morethings in general. I have to stop myself from compulsively…
