Today at the Coffee Shop

On the sofas and easy chairs in the front of the coffee shop, there’s a guy in a bluetooth talking loudly to three well-dressed, good looking younger people, possibly about real estate. At first I thought it was some sort of facilitated speed-dating deal, which seemed odd for 9:30 in the morning. Now, it looks more likely that he’s trying to rope them into some real estate buy. Seems more like an investment than a house—his cadence was more businesslike than the comforting hominess (“Picture yourself spending the next step of your life here…”) home realtors try to project. Instead, he projected that smug aura that I really despise in a salesperson: the certainty that only a shortsighted idiot would pass up what he was offering. He said something about some people not having the guts to change their lives. Between his body language and his overall demeanor, I wouldn’t buy so much as a lemon from the guy.

On the plus side, I just closed the door on Chapter 20.

Rob

Rob is Overcaffienated

Coffee!

Rob

Shake Shake Shake

tYesterday, I spent the afternoon in Barnes and Noble, looking at magazines and researching which ones I should query and thinking about the sort of stories they'd need. And I drank two jumbo ("venti," in coffee parlance) cups of coffee.

This isn't terribly unusual for me. I drink a lot of coffee when I'm at work.

Except I'm not at work anymore. And in the month I've been cooling my heels, I've totally lost my tolerance for the type of caffeine coffee puts in me. I've been drinking lots and lots of tea, but only a cup of coffee here and there.

Until yesterday.

I spent some time defragging our computer last night, and getting rid of some files here and there. It was 4:30 a.m.

I finally left the computer to do its business and went to bed. And rolled over. And stayed put. And rolled over again. And just lay there as Kathy slept beside me and I. just. couldn't. stop.

I know it's out of my system by now, but I can still feel the hum of my ribcage vibrating.

Rob