I’m in a coffee shop in Berkeley, a few blocks from my friend Ben’s apartment. Ben is letting me stay here while I recover from my wild boar attack. I’ve alternately struggled and dealt with my depression for most of my adult life, and being boar-hobbled has me feeling a little down. But the sun is out today, and it helps to be outside and near other people — I’m in a little courtyard area right now, and a nearby couple is talking about sustainable construction techniques. Jefferson Airplane was playing on the stereo earlier, and before that I walked through a gigantic cloud of pungent marijuana smoke with no apparent source. I’m happy that Berkeley hasn’t challenged any of my preconceptions about it.
On the other hand, I got some weird looks and prolonged stares walking down the street today [thanks mostly to my legs], and I’m slightly worried that in a place with a generalized weirdness quotient as high as Berkeley, I’m the one attracting stares.
There’s another person here reading a book with her laptop open in front of her. It’s a 12-inch G4 Powerbook, which was only available from I think 2003 to 2006, and suddenly I wish I could talk directly to the part of my brain responsible for knowing this and persuade it to replace this information with knowledge on what I should do with my life.
Hey Kim, I hope you liked this letter. I wasn’t sure how to finish it, so I drew a caveman playing a keyboard. I talked to a doctor yesterday and he said my legs are in good shape after the wild boar attack and I can “ride the Tour de France” if I want. Personally I think that might be a bit much, but that’s good news anyway. I hope you are enjoying Kansas.