It\’s after five pm as I begin to write this. I think I hear Caitlin making her way up the stairs. Grr is sitting on my lap as I am laid down on the bed slouching way too far to be comfortable, but the cat is comfortable, so the law says I have no choice but to endure this position. —Caitlin is not making her way up the stairs; she texted me that she has picked up the torts (tortillas) from Safeway. I\’m supposed to cook dinner tonight. I bought some pre-seasoned chicken from Trader Joe\’s earlier. But I ate a sriracha burger from Jack in the Box only two hours ago. This isn\’t good.

We spent the weekend in Corvalis and Portland with Caitlin\’s friends which was absolutely lovely. But the main thing I\’m thinking most about right now is the four-hour long way-too-late motorcycle ride home through the night. It was cold. We averaged about 80 mph for the majority of the way, often hitting 90 mph for long stretches. Caitlin says she fell asleep behind me from shortly after Olympia until the first exit to Renton, however long that is. It was miserable, but only hours later it\’s a fun memory.

I had a good conversation with Madeline Owen this morning. I have a commission for her. She asked if she could record our conversation, but I was too nervous. We might rehash that conversation again and record it. I\’m excited about this. But I don\’t want to write anything else about it for fear of disturbing whatever is at work.

I had a brief job interview today. We met in a QFC parking lot. I spoke with the owner of Salmon Bay Windows. I had told him my story over the phone, namely that I plan on leaving Seattle in January. He vaguely recalled that and used it as a bargaining chip saying that he\’s trying to put a long term crew together and that if the other guys didn\’t work out he would call me, and I would have to accept his lowest wage offer.  I\’m not particularly interested in cleaning gutters, windows, and moss. But a part of me thinks that \”real\” work would be good. When I left I realized that I had never even asked him about commute times and other practical questions. It looks to me like I didn\’t really care. I felt sleepy and lethargic on the way there.

He drove a Dodge Ram and wore a black tshirt with an American flag made of gray arrows—modern hunting arrows with various deadly-looking tips. We spoke across the bed of his truck. He had a tool box with a few low-key bow hunting, archery, and marksman-optics stickers, and a SIG sticker, as in the gun manufacturer Sig Sauer. Funny enough, I remember passing a Sig Sauer building south of Portland yesterday which is burned into my mind. (I was more of a Glock guy, but I never owned a rifle.)

As he was talking, I was looking at his toolbox. And I realized that if I would work for him, then I would be funding his hobbies. I would be working for him. My labor would fund his hobbies. My labor would—albeit somewhat removed—allow him to live his dreams to a greater degree than I would mine. He is an entrepreneur—taking on the dual burden of financial risk and organization. I\’m not saying that working for him would be an unjust arrangement. But I am, at best, ambivalent, so I am not right for the job. 

I\’m not sure what is causing this disagreement in me. I\’m not sure if it\’s because I want to be an owner or if I find \”using\” other people\’s labor to be disagreeable for other reasons. This is something that I need to figure out because I will need to work eventually.