I’m sitting outside a coffee shop dressed fully in black, with shoes instead of boots, absorbing blissful sunshine.
I look like Catwoman. Meow. 🐱
Why is this blog-worthy you ask?
Because:
Coffee from the back porch
Good morning and Happy Fathers Day to those of you who are fathers, and up. (It’s 7 am in EST Canada as I type this, so that means Europe mostly…)
I’m sitting in a wet spot and my coffee cup is empty. 😳
Revamping the About page
I noticed recently that my About page was a little out of date. Certain things I had written there were several years old, and now with the pandemic, well lets just say that a lot has changed.
Prevaling introversion
I remember now why I evolved into introversion over the years:
I don’t want to witness, be surrounded, or entertained by idiocy. 😳
Today
I hung a bath mat over a railing.
.
.
.
.
I also wrote 60-gazillion words into this blog and deleted them all. Then I turned on the electric blanket and went to bed at 7:30 pm.
It’s now 7:32 pm.
Everything is stupid.
The end.
Day 26
This morning started with a bang.
Same, but different
One thing hasn’t changed since lock-down began a number of weeks ago.
I still wake up to the ritual of making, and sipping, my first cup of coffee. Every single day.
No matter how horrible my sleep might have been, or alternately how well I slept, that first cup is my one enduring love. 💗
Alone in a coffee shop at night
There is a coffee shop in Canada called Tim Horton’s (Tim’s for short) that is ubiquitous with hockey families. Often, you will find a Tim’s near a rink, especially older arenas. Actually, there are Tim’s everywhere in the city, including near schools, churches and on every street corner.
I’m currently sitting in such a Tim’s on this snowy, Sunday night.
Not normal
Have you noticed this about me, that I’m the opposite of normal?
For instance, I am the only person in Canada with a bug bite on her eye. In January. Continue reading “Not normal”
Elusive sleep
Imagine, a hangover. But not from cocktails.
A heavy head, filled with fog. Thick and soupy, full of words that won’t transmit.
Distractions.
A fantasy filled with desire and hope.
Longing.
There is no time, no peace, no focus.
But it will come. It has to.
The story takes shape, slowly, like the torso of a snowman. Getting bigger, fatter.
Until it melts. Again.
Sleep eludes. The wifi beckons. It never sleeps.
Maybe the words will form at dawn.
Maybe not.
