I met a friend at a snooty Capitol Hill cafe yesterday, the kind of cafe where the baristas go to special barista camp and enter fancy espresso shot pulling contests and blah blah Seattle coffee snobbishness. Anyway, the coffee was pretty good, and my friend was late and I sat in a corner spying on the other coffee drinkers, all of whom sat staring down their Apple laptops. I thought, "If I were 1) not a mom and 2) not married and 3) lived in this hipster part of town I would 4) totally hang out here all day with my brand-appropriate laptop listening to 5) the right kind of music and 6) pounding out my various masterpieces."
Then my friend showed up and made a semi-snarky comment about all the hipster kids and their laptops. I would have taken offense if I resembled anything CLOSE to a hipster kid with a Mac, but instead I mumbled something about how I thought it was kind of awesome and, you know, I have spent entire mornings and afternoons with my Dell laptop in the mall Panera, which is not the same thing, but CLOSE.
The kids stayed overnight with their grandparents last night (AGAIN) (SPOILED!) and Phillip and I had a marvelous day. This has to do, mainly, with the sun being out for the first time since, oh, SEPTEMBER and how I went for actual honest-to-goodness run and in the afternoon we saw Sherlock Holmes, which I loved, because I have loved Robert Downey Jr. since he was in the movie with the ghosts and singing 'Walk Like A Man' in the bathroom.
But it was also marvelous because I sat on the couch all morning - in precisely the same spot I'm sitting in right now - rewriting the beginning of my "novel". I don't need no hipster cafe!
It's sort of weird to get such a rush, such an alive-ness feeling, from doing something that may, ultimately, have no point. On the way to the movie I was telling Phillip how accomplished I felt - I figured out a few awkward moments, cleaned up a lot of extraneous stuff, moved some scenes around. I got stuff done! I had this renewed vigor for my Project and Phillip was awesome and on board and then that sneaking less-than feeling crept in, as it does, because what am I doing? What is this for? I'm not even good at it.
It's almost as bad as blogging, you know. I'm sure you've read Amalah's post - I hate that question too. What DO you do? I write, but I never tell people that I write. I mean, I am not A Writer. Writers are, like, REAL writers. They write a million different things, they write all the time, they get PAID. And it's true, I am paid here and there, but oh God, I am not a WRITER. I am merely a desperately-hoping-to-be-so-one-day-wannabe-writer. And I am not telling anyone THAT.
(And I did not just write all that so you, The Lovely Internet, will write back to say, "YES YOU ARE!" Oh, I am on to you, Internet!)
So anyway. I am not telling anyone. (Well, except for you, of course.) But that's what I want to do. And be. And mornings like this morning make me realize that YES. I have found my place. It is just very poor, has bad lighting, gives you carpal tunnel and requires a diet of chocolate chips and wine.