It's Wednesday morning, so I'm in my spot at the Naked Bean drinking coffee in gulps and "working" (I should feel okay about dropping that unnecessary punctuation, but I just can't yet. I use quotation marks like a shield; they protect me from anyone thinking I take myself too seriously. Just like when I call myself an "adult" or say that I "work out" or "play music" or whatever else I am or do that I feel massively insecure about).
(Here's a thing: that last sip of coffee tasted exactly like mashed potatoes. So strange.)
I come here every Wednesday morning, at six thirty-something am (Barclay has his dad over for breakfast and Sullivan hangs out with them for a couple hours. It's the best arrangement). I have $3 in my back pocket, divided up exactly into coffee money and tip change. I still don't know the name of the girl behind the cash register, despite my regularity here, and I'm starting to feel weird about it. Every week on the way over I think to myself, "Today, I'm going to introduce myself and ask what her name is. 'I'm Suzy, by the way. It feels strange to see you every week and not know your name.'" But every week, as I pass her the coffee money and drop the tip change into the mug by the register, all that comes out is, "Hi, can I have a small medium roast?"
Sometimes I throw in a, "Beautiful day out there, eh?" I don't want her to think I'm rude, but I don't want her to think I'm weird. Like, as though we have a beautiful friendship in our future and I could ruin it by introducing myself.
Meeting new people is hard, even when you've met them ten thousand times before.
Anyway. Here I am. There's construction going on across the street. There are enough people in the coffee shop right now that their collective voices are a steady, medium-loud hum, and the music is just perceptible enough that I can follow it without paying much attention to it. MGMT, I think. I have four windows open besides this one - a thesaurus, a dictionary, Gmail, and my online typewriter (my absolute favourite writing tool). When I get stuck in one place, I just click away and continue in another.
As you can probably tell, I've hit a few walls in my, you know, "work" this morning. That's why I'm here, telling you about this coffee shop and the girl and my questionable "work ethic". But that's the nice thing about hitting walls: if you have enough coffee in you, you don't have to crumple against them and fall to the floor; you can just bounce off in another direction.
Now, if you'll excuse me (or even if you won't) I'm going to get back at it.
PS: If you're looking for some good music this morning, you should listen to the entire Walter Mitty soundtrack, all the way through. I found it on YouTube, and it is amazing.
(Here's a thing: that last sip of coffee tasted exactly like mashed potatoes. So strange.)
I come here every Wednesday morning, at six thirty-something am (Barclay has his dad over for breakfast and Sullivan hangs out with them for a couple hours. It's the best arrangement). I have $3 in my back pocket, divided up exactly into coffee money and tip change. I still don't know the name of the girl behind the cash register, despite my regularity here, and I'm starting to feel weird about it. Every week on the way over I think to myself, "Today, I'm going to introduce myself and ask what her name is. 'I'm Suzy, by the way. It feels strange to see you every week and not know your name.'" But every week, as I pass her the coffee money and drop the tip change into the mug by the register, all that comes out is, "Hi, can I have a small medium roast?"
Sometimes I throw in a, "Beautiful day out there, eh?" I don't want her to think I'm rude, but I don't want her to think I'm weird. Like, as though we have a beautiful friendship in our future and I could ruin it by introducing myself.
Meeting new people is hard, even when you've met them ten thousand times before.
Anyway. Here I am. There's construction going on across the street. There are enough people in the coffee shop right now that their collective voices are a steady, medium-loud hum, and the music is just perceptible enough that I can follow it without paying much attention to it. MGMT, I think. I have four windows open besides this one - a thesaurus, a dictionary, Gmail, and my online typewriter (my absolute favourite writing tool). When I get stuck in one place, I just click away and continue in another.
As you can probably tell, I've hit a few walls in my, you know, "work" this morning. That's why I'm here, telling you about this coffee shop and the girl and my questionable "work ethic". But that's the nice thing about hitting walls: if you have enough coffee in you, you don't have to crumple against them and fall to the floor; you can just bounce off in another direction.
Now, if you'll excuse me (or even if you won't) I'm going to get back at it.
PS: If you're looking for some good music this morning, you should listen to the entire Walter Mitty soundtrack, all the way through. I found it on YouTube, and it is amazing.
9 comments:
So this is another weird sort of self-conscious thing to say / do, but I think your writing voice is just the best. I like it a whole bunch.
Love that coffee shop!
ha, I love reading your words. I haven't managed to write anything in what feels like ages, so getting introduced to your future BFF was very uplifting :)
Thank you so much, Rachel! I LOVE YOURS TOO. So your compliment means even more to me. :)
HOW have I not run into you in real life yet????
You should definitely introduce yourself! She probably wants to do the same thing but also daren't. Your writing style never gets old to me, friend. For a simple post about a coffee shop and writing, this is lovely :)
thank you so much, Suzy. :D you're so sweet.
Garsh, THANK YOU. Your blog is one of my favourites, so...
Also: writer's block is the worst. Hope the cloud lifts sooooon.
Post a Comment