writing in cafes

i’m not sure why, but it is so cool to write in cafes. i’ve felt this way for a long time, long before i had a laptop. when i used to just carry around a journal and shyly pen wistful lines of whimsy. there were some sorry sad excuses for cafes back in the day. i’m thinking back to college when i lived by Union Square. i used to try sitting in this one cafe-ish deli that noone frequented. like i said, it was sad. eventually, c & i discovered the irving place cafe where we wound up “studying” often.

in pdx i used to swear by crema. and what would i write about? i don’t really know. i am always finding myself, i suppose. doing some sort of mental inventory. it’s the way i stay sane, stay composed. i’m not sure what other purpose it serves. cream was gorgeous, cavernous, all windows and light and delicious treats. i would get an americana and a cappers panini, and then later a slice of chocolate pound cake.

here in my current ‘hood i try lots of different spots, but always gravitate back to my local coffee shop, which is small but perfect. as long as i can find a seat, i’m good to go.

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i’m starting to feel like maybe i actually need to use twitter to express my daily bite-sized observations. things like, that feeling when you’re very awkwardly and valiantly getting your mail from your foyer while balancing your nyc commute load and all you get is junk mail. ok, that isn’t phrased very well but it’s a feeling i know many will sympathize with. or, how about that miniature feeling of triumph when you cross the street before the walk sign, showing up those timid tourists on the curb.

i usually wind up getting influenced by the book that i am reading, and rather than intentionally writing as that author, it’s more of an inspiration to express, and it comes out a little bit in their voice. in their dialect so to speak.

reading helps me see the world in new lights, and that is generally inspiring.

why we can’t just live and not rely on hamster wheels, i wish i knew.

heartbroken in the span of 3 months. there were two hopeful prospects, both felt like great opportunities and good fits. one of them dragged things out for 3 months only to say no. anything to get out of this place. i was already mentally checked out. i’m in denial, sort of confused, baffled. they loved me.

i can try to rationalize it. i was being pitted against someone else, who was ultimately cheaper. and would be happier at a lower rate. so be it. how do i end the conversation without sounding desperate?

i’m reading mindy kaling’s first book, and she’s pretty hilarious. love her humor. i like reading memoirs by women – that seems to be my thing lately. it’s making me want to approach work differently. build with my hands. make my job better. make my career better. why rely on these found opportunities when i can be creating something? something that relates more closely to who i am and what i love.

do you think about estranged friends?

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i find myself wondering about her, trivial everyday things like “is she into this culottes comeback?” and “what is she like as a mom?” i don’t know if we will ever be in each other’s lives again, because maybe it’s better this way. healthier. i used to think friends could overcome anything, release any amount of baggage, but with the lack of space in our lives as working moms, where is the room to work on broken friendships? it’s almost as though the memory of our time together is enough. she’s the one who would say, “travel is good for the soul.” i love how succinct that is, because it becomes so obviously true whenever i get away. on our recent road trip to toronto i felt so free, immersed in a slightly different culture, removing myself from the mundane routine. i spent quality time with the little bossman and the husband as well, and it was lovely. i wonder, is she still so self-absorbed as to not think about her friendships the way i do? she has the heart but not the mind for the friendship i needed. she has so much heart. it’s her heart i miss, and we learned so much about the world together, i can’t help but feel like we see a lot of things through the same eyes. and somehow, i don’t know how, that is just enough, even if we never see each other ever again.

i’ll attempt to write everyday as i get a feel for this blog. things aren’t always going to tie together initially, but the hope is that because they are all related to me and my cloudhead of a mind they will make cohesive sense.

in the mornings, i walk. i carve out time during my commute to walk. it’s really my only time to see NYC, because my day is really spent half at work and half at home, taming a wild toddler. my morning walk is one of my most cherished times of the day. i look forward to it so much. i choose a different neighborhood and try to get in a good 20 minutes of sightseeing before plunging back into the subterranean chaos. it colors my day with, dare i commit to a strong adjective – bliss.

I’d never heard the word “filmic” until recently, when used to describe instrumental electronic music that conjures up images of sci-fi films. I thought it hit the nail on the head of what I am feeling inside, this need to communicate filmic interpretations of my everyday, somewhat wistfully, sadly, romantically, not in an amorous way but in a dreamy, cinematic way. Oftentimes these feelings are triggered by music, and undoubtedly I feel a strong connection to Martin Gore’s “MG,” a collection of eurorack synthy melodic goodness. Have a listen: