Somehow when I get in these daydreamy-romanticizing-life kinda moods, I find myself at Starbucks with $5 worth of food and drink before me. Never mind that I was on my way home to read a book and cuddle with my cat over a cup of coffee. I’ll probably still do that. But an iced toffee nut latte struck my fancy, and my stomach cried out for a scone. So here I am.
I have a notebook meant to be kept in my car for moments like this, when the urge strikes and I’ve got to transfer my thoughts to paper. It’s the perfect pad for this occasion—its cover proclaims “Chocolate, coffee, and men are so much better when they’re rich.” Alas, I sometimes carry that spiral bound to me inside to copy down the words I’ve inscribed, and inside my house is where it now resides. Today’s ramblings are just as at home on the back of my receipt.
I have nothing particular to say—that’s one of the drawbacks of unemployment. A quiet life split between the T.V., computer, crosswords and books doesn’t leave much to share. My pen moves now more from habit than need to communicate information.