Playing catch up. 8-28 through 9-16

It feels like fall today. Grey skies, misty cold drizzle.

On some level I feel like this moment is absurd. Sitting in Starbucks surrounding by people in various states of business casual. Them with smart phones and laptops. Them having meetings and networking.

And then there’s me.

Bright pink nails, wearing all black. Carrying a pirate bag and writing with a purple ink pen in a much abused black and white composition book.

Miss Busy Being Business Supermom and her daughter keep sneaking confused glances at me. The daughter cranes her neck to see what I’m writing. Meanwhile, she’s making a mess with straws and packets of sugar all over the table. Neither gives a thought to the sweet girls behind the register who’ll have to clean that shit up when they leave.

I think it’s telling of society. This moment I mean. I feel like it might never occur to Miss BBBS and Daughter to say hello. Or ask what I’m working on. Instead they retreat to a safe distance a few tables away, giving me worried glances.

I like this guy. Nerdy and dapper in a sweater vest that matches my nails. His glasses look like mine but more masculine on his ruddy face. He smiles and gives me a slight nod. I am fairly certain he’s one of my people.

Outside there are two women smoking. I’m suddenly envious in a huge bright pulsating wave that makes me a little nauseous.

I miss having a place to sit in a corner with my Americano, notebook and smokes at my elbow.

I hate that my three favorite vices, the three things I am best at (drinking coffee, writing and smoking of course) can no longer be enjoyed indoors in public.

It makes me feel old and tired. It makes me yearn for the shy 20 year old girl I was. If for no other reason than I’d like to tell her to cherish her vices.


I wanted to run.

The first time I walked those long dark lonely streets bounded by huge silent grey warehouses. I wanted to feel my feet pounding the rutted pavement, the sound bouncing off of the sleeping giants.


A few poems.

I wanted to say

how much I loathed the shadow

that you left inside.

Mostly undated from my notebook.


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