I'm nestled in a warm coffee shop, between social engagements. I'm starting to make a habit of these stolen coffee dates with myself. I had one yesterday too.
I'm especially happy that I'm taking the time to write a post now, rather than leaving it till midnight, to shoehorn into my routine while half asleep or half distracted.
I'm like Ernest Hemingway, just sober, writing furiously at a table in the middle of the bustle of human life. I have no idea of that is at all historically accurate but it is how I imagine it.
The warmth is almost uncomfortable as my fingers defrost from their brush with the night air. I'm so sleepy and hazy, even while clasping a latte. Maybe it's the candlelight? Maybe because I'm slowly decompressing.
This week is going to be so busy and it is probably my own fault for falling into so many engagements. But why shouldn't I have late weeknights? I hardly ever go to bed at a decent time. I'm only cutting into my series watching time. I've already prepped food for the next few days of packed lunches and dinners. I have tomorrow morning's veggie juice lined up. All my laundry is done. Why shouldn't I stay in the bustle of humanity a little longer?
xxx
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