I had a bit of an argument with T the other day about It’s Kind of a Funny Story. She thought the movie trivialized the lives of mentally ill people in the course of providing an unrealistic plot device. I called bullshit, literally, then tried to find a way to explain myself. I still don’t know how to. I feel like there is a relationship here with being frustrated with the focus on anti-racism in some of my social groups lately and the us versus them mentality surrounding the Seattle PD lately. I usually joke that I’m an offensive man from a small town in the woods and somewhat kill the conversation. I don’t intend to kill it, but I give most people an out from there.

L told me recently that I was a conundrum. I forget her evidence, but none of it was a surprise. It was something like that being a flannel wearing bearded man who swaps transfer cases doesn’t fit with being an emotive blogger who volunteers a lot. M responded a bit to my inquiry about how she feels about fitting into the world, which excited me. There is some interesting confirmation in L calling me a conundrum and my conversation with M about being a round peg in a world of square holes.

I only recently remembered that I’m meeting J tomorrow instead of our usually Tuesday. Boo.

Work more.