I am fittingly writing this first post from a plane, where I am trying desperately to keep myself from the patch of severe turbulence we are currently experiencing. I. hate. turbulence. Apparently this particular hatred has nearly superseded my fear of interacting with strangers, because I have been strongly considering asking the man sitting next to me on this tiny plane if he would perhaps hold my hand for a while and/or until we are finally safe on the ground.
If I was Emma Stone and he was Ryan Gosling and we were in a cutesy movie with a peppy soundtrack and a happy ending, this would be our meet-cute: I would whimper and quietly ask him if I could just please hold his hand, just for the next five minutes while we ascended to a higher altitude. He would look at me sideways and furrow his brow, but I would be so cute and scared that he would chuckle to himself before extending his arm to me. After a particularly rough bump, I would scream, causing the passengers around us to turn around in alarm and, to diffuse the tension he’d ask if I wanted to join him in watching Die Hard on his laptop. I would nod my head pleadingly– anything to get my mind off the fact that we no doubt would soon free-fall somewhere over the Ohio River. I’d eventually fall asleep on his shoulder, waking only when we landed. We’d exchange numbers, expecting never to see each other again, but then we’d discover that we worked out at the same gym, or ate at the same restaurant every Tuesday for lunch and gosh darn it if we didn’t just keep bumping into each other all the time! Then the rest of the movie would happen (something no doubt involving a complicated misunderstanding and/or a meddlesome ex-something), and after much nail biting by the audience, finally the credits would roll as we watched Die Hard in our wedding attire.
In reality, I am sending out very strong “grungy feminist” vibes, having been too busy protesting and otherwise strategizing about how to bring down the patriarchy to have had any time to shower this weekend. The guy next to me in is a little bro-y, chews his gum much too loudly, and resembles a young Ray Romano. He’s watching Sherlock on an iPad whose screen I am consequently avoiding, as I haven’t seen all of season 4 (my boyfriend would kill me if I watched any of it without him; the feeling is mutual). This dude also has a pretty serious cough, which I can only hope is due to allergies, and not something contagious. I suspect that if I did end up holding his hand, all I would end up with is someone else’s sweat on me, and a vague feeling of embarrassment and malaise.
I have just been in Washington, D.C. for the weekend, taking part in the Women’s March on Washington, an even that was explicitly billed as not an anti-Trump protest but was in actuality, pretty outspoken in its disdain for our new president. This is only the second protest I have attended in my life and I am sure it will be the biggest I ever attend. While I have mixed feelings about some of the other protestors I saw (pink hats < intersectionality and not supporting trans erasure), I am traveling home to Minnesota feeling invigorated and empowered. I have lofty goals for the next week, ones that include writing letters to congress people, lifting weights, cooking meals… in all honesty, I will likely only half-ass one of those things, but hey, it’s the thought that counts, rights?
I decided to start a new blog because I am An Adult™ now, and felt that it would be a good way to grow into a new and more organized forum for writing. Also, blogger stopped supporting their app, which I thought was annoying, even though I didn’t really use it. So, here are! I look forward to seeing where this journey will take us.
weary traveler 
