It’s the last Monday of summer. I already had my last Thursday and Friday, and I didn’t even think about it. . . hmmmm, wonder why. . .
I am not dreading going back to school, surprisingly. (Although I am dreading a week of 6th grade outdoor lab that is coming all too soon.) I am desperately going to miss being able to sit at the coffee shop and write all day. It really is the life I want (at least part of the life I want). I am a little nervous of getting back into the routine of things. I was firm in the schedule of wake up, take Chad to work, get Caribou, go to work, go work out, come home, make dinner, spend an evening with Chad, sleep next to the man I loved, and then do it all over again. (No wonder he left me.) I am scared about facing that much of a routine without him. Beyond scared. I’m not sure if I can distract myself enough like I’ve been able to this summer.
Okay, the more I think about it, the more scared I become and the closer to tears—and I’m so sick of that. New subject.
Having lived at the coffee shop this summer has make me just a tiniest touch entitled. My favorite spot is against the wall, sort of in the middle of the shop, snug against the counter with all the napkins and such. I feel surrounded and protected on two sides and I can see everyone around me if I choose to. It’s nice. However, nearly everyday, I catch myself starting to look up at whoever is there adding cinnamon to their drink or whatnot and asking them to get me a stirrer or a napkin or to throw my trash away. Several times I have even opened my mouth to make such a request before it hits me that they really aren’t there to serve me (they are, but they aren’t aware of that yet). Even today (I am one seat over from my favorite spot—now occupied by a young guy with horrible shorts, a faded blue-trying-too-hard tee-shirt, and lots of acne—oops, was that mean? Well, the bitch shouldn’t be in my spot now should he?), I began to lean over and ask him to refill my cup of water. Then I realized what I was doing and stopped (and noticed the acne---your really don’t wanna sit in my spot. Plus, he’s only doing facebook, anyway. I am working. I am writing. I am blogging. I am emptying my soul for my multitude of dependant and loyal fans. I am Writer. Hear me type.) Luckily, I will soon be back to school and there will plenty of little servants to run and fetch me water, wash my car, and pluck my dead chickens for me. Hey, who said teachers just give-away A’s nowadays!
Oh, oh! He must have been looking over my shoulder and reading about his acne! He left and I am now in MY seat! He must have run off to call the Jessica Simpson number for Proactive! Good for him!
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