Listening back, it’s loud, sloppy, off-key. And it’s awesome. We didn’t know how to be afraid yet. We just plugged in and made noise. And sometimes, that’s enough.

Fifty gigs of music - god, we thought those songs could save the world. Old demos from every band I ever made noise in. My friends too. Beautiful messes, all of them.

What a kind thing to say.

I’ll read until the wheels leave the ground and maybe by then I’ll believe in happy endings again. I think Vonnegut would say “so it goes” here.

I am not looking forward to my flight but fiction helps. It reminds me there are other worlds, and in some of them, people get where they’re going without turbulence or delays.

There’s something right about reading adventure novels in an airport. Everyone’s between places, pretending to be someone else. It’s the most honest time to escape into lies.

The brick buildings round Leeds(red, sturdy, unbothered) felt like old friends too. Like they’ve seen worse and decided to stick around anyway. I liked that.

I felt grateful, which is rare and a little suspicious. But I’ll take it. This job, this life- it’s weird and hard and beautiful.

There’s something strange and wonderful about being around people who care deeply about long-dead monks and marginalia. It makes the world feel less lonely.