Do you know how much I love it here?
I spent most of this evening at a coffee shop, curled up with one of my favorite authors, and indulging in occasional breaks to eavesdrop on the conversations going on around me.
(For instance: the couple sitting next to me consisted of some sort of children’s therapist and her quasi-boyfriend, a man whom she was seeing but who, from the sounds of it, was dating other women as well. The therapist was surprisingly judgmental in her evaluations of her clients, and was also prone to swearing: her ongoing monologues were heavily punctuated by the word ‘fuck.’ The man she was with kept touching her suggestively — stroking her thigh, giving her a footrub, etc. — as he asked her about how to handle his other relationships. They were fantastically inappropriate, on so many levels. You can see how this exchange could easily have been as intriguing as any novel.)
I walked home as the sun was setting over the palm trees. I saw a man with a fishing rod on his front porch, perfecting his cast over the front lawn. He waved at me as I walked by. It was beautiful.
Now I’m supposed to be getting ready to go to some sort of party put on by the friend of one of my professors. It’s apparently an annual affair — something to do with the beginning of spring — and I’d be more excited about going if my throat didn’t hurt so badly. I can hardly swallow, and I’m worried that I’ve caught strep from one of my co-workers.
Still, though, life is good.