I've seen so many ships sail in, just to head back out again and go off sinking.

well, i can finally stop daydreaming that you'll come through those doors and order a hot coffee with soy & smile at me with your goofy grin.

it's always liberating when we can finally let go of the ones we love and love to hate, but love & love, even if he leaves you on sides of roads in upstate new york, even if he loves another girl at the same time as he loves you, & even if he stomped on your heart more than once.

& i mean really let go. they'll always be there, in the back of our minds and somewhere in a crevice in our hearts, but when that door of hope, of chance, of maybe someday closes, it's liberating.

i recently let go of someone i held tightly to for two years, and i feel like i am finally waking up from a long, heavy sleep. i can stretch my arms wide, yawn a big yawn, and drink some serious coffee (while running around and pouring it for others, of course) and know there is a new day ahead.

The Boy from Next Door has not come in now for approximately a week and a half. this entirely bums me out. he's one of the customers that i'd love to sit down and just talk with. just shoot the shit with. sip coffee with. because we begin these conversations that we both know could be afternoon-long conversations, and it's too bad that i am stuck behind the counter and beneath my dinky hat, and he is stuck behind Next Door & what i imagine must be a cubicle and things of Importance, like building structures and circumferences and floor plans. perhaps.

he wears good shoes.

we just hired a new girl. i really like her. she's one of those incredibly positive, upbeat people that can laugh at everything and make those around her drop their cranky moods and smile a little. it's a nice change.

i've grown increasingly curious about mothers who bundle their at least 4 children, all under the ages of 4, into extensive, complex strollers & insist on maneuvering them up the stairs, through the narrow doorways of the cafe, and into the middle of the already very crowded dining room. they especially like to park their mini-van sized strollers next to the elderly couples reading their papers. it's kind of humorous to watch - the kids spill out into the dining room, usually bouncing & yelling, sometimes climbing on the counter & reaching into the tip jar (yes, this happened more than once), and the mother usually has to tend to Baby that is bundled in at least 10 layers of outdoor clothing, & the old couples shift uncomfortably in their chairs, trying to pretend the escapade does not actually exist & that they are not annoyed by it, & that the child dropping their hot chocolate all over the floor is not a source of stress, & that the mother has not escaped this reality via her iphone. not only is their entrance a show in itself (with the stroller, screaming children, diaper bags, bottles, purses, & not to mention the winter gear - mittens, hats, snowpants, runny noses, sleds, snow, boots) but their orders are so complex that i'd sometimes rather be sitting in a calculus class back in high school, or licking a toilet seat.

"i want a kid's pb&J, but without the jelly, & with extra chunky peanut butter, & i want one half of the bread toasted & one half cold, & it needs to be cut into eighths or else he won't eat it. & i want a skim latte but i want it half decaf and i want the milk only warmed to 150 degrees, exactly."

after listing various other complexities at an astounding 10 words per second, they generally proceed to walk away after this. this is because a) they believe they own the place/the world & b) because their children have decided to lick and blow breath steam clouds onto the glass cake cases and draw pictures in them. of course, this usually gets a nonchalant, 'oh honey, don't touch the glass' before the iphone sucks them back in.


the coffee must be just that good.

& beyond the walls of the cafe: i star-gazed with a friend last night. i showed him orion's belt, among other constellations. i saw a shooting star. there's nothing more gratifying than just looking at the sky at night in the winter. clear, vast, with those little breath-cloud interruptions. he also brought me an orchid in a shot glass of water, which i found to be strangely romantic & also just strange. a cop did make an appearance while we were star gazing to ask us what, exactly, we were doing, & "if we were okay?" i think everybody should star-gaze on a weekly basis, & always with someone else.

that, & i've been doing some serious modest mouse listening.

A portrait of my daydreams.

Every day, I still (still!) imagine you walking through the doors. The little bell rings, & in the back of my mind, I hope to see your face in the next customer - that I'll look up from making that egg-nog latte to see you standing there, arms crossed, brown messy hair, goofy grin & all.

I am so interested in the way our hearts ache for people - even after years have passed (two, in this case).

We always loved coffee. You introduced me to it.

You'd really love where I'm at, I'd say, if we still spoke. Because I know that you would go gaga for this coffee, & that you'd have it with soy milk.

That, & hey, M.P. whatcha up to, & how ya been?

When the world hands you lemons, make lemonade.

I've made so many lattes & cappuccinos that I can actually create little works of art with the foam/espresso. I LOVE it. Pouring in the espresso, dark, black, that brown cream on top. Pouring the milk on top, a rich mixture of brown, white. Blending, swirling, hot. If I twirl the spoon through the top of the foam, I can create a beautiful swirl. I even created a heart the other day - sort of by accident, sort of not. I always like to see what shapes will occur naturally from the pouring of the milk into the espresso...& then maybe help them out a little into forming something interesting.



I love making lattes.

Today, I drove to the cafe & looked at the beautiful snow along the tree branches. A white world. It was so refreshing to wake to - & so early in the morning, I felt like my eyes were the first to see the world covered for the first time this year.

When I got to work, I walked down the stairs, & the smell of the stairs brought me back to summer. I could almost feel the sweat that would start back in July as I walked through the doors. & when that smell hit me, & i was brought back to so many months ago, I suddenly realized just how much time has passed.

Six months.

Six months ago today, I was lying in a grassy backyard, staring up at the sunshine, laughing with my roommates. We were finished with college. Done. Nothing to do, not a care in the world. Accomplishment, wine & sunshine, love & friends. I remember I was wearing a blue dress, & I felt pretty, & I didn't know who C was, or the difference between a latte and a cappuccino, & i certainly couldn't feel or see every single rib in my body, & i didn't know what it meant to push my body to extreme limits, or how to be firm with people, or how to do quick math or lie on the spot, or the numbers and varieties of coffees, & most importantly, the taste of a GOOD cup of coffee, & how to identify a bad cup of coffee.

& i certainly didn't know how to make an art-gallery-caliber latte.

& this is all I have. Apparently, the world decided to hand me espresso. & so - I make lattes [for now].

From a Lake at Midnight

and it is in these days that blend together - that seem and feel and look painfully too similar, that i've started to learn.

for the first time in my life, ever, i've started to feel a new pull inside of me. something is growing there, something that needs to emerge and that i know will emerge. for the first time in my life, i am experiencing what i believe is a pull towards spirituality - towards acknowledging and putting faith in something deeper than the every day blur.

i don't know if this is a result of unplugging a bit from technology (okay, the HBO show True Blood has been taking up the vast majority of my free time, but in retrospect, my "free time" is roughly 3 hours a day, if that). i don't know if it's the fact that my life feel very monotonous and repetitive, and that as a result, i am learning to find things between the lines. i don't know if it's because i met someone and it was once again, too good to be true. it may be because i am suddenly out of touch with most of my once closest friends, and not by choice (& i am beginning to get tired of waiting, hanging on, wondering, making the phone calls...).

whatever it is, i do feel a big change occurring inside of me. a step towards something. i feel as if i have finally started down a path i've never dared venture - the path of getting to know Myself. Once and for all.

on friday night, i sat beneath tiny bulb lights listening to jazz notes, letting a beautiful boy hold my hand in his. his hands were warm and i noticed how small mine looked in his. i felt magical. he pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and told me to write about the Now. i hastily scribbled something in nearly illegible handwriting about trying to hear what lies between the spaces in each note. i felt silly. at set break, we sat on the trunk of his car and looked for the stars, except there weren't any because it was cloudy, and he began reciting Rilke from memory. (yeah, this one really caught my attention).

we then drove to an overview of a lake. it was midnight. it was just us. us two, side by side, the lake, and the trees, and the night and the star-less sky, and our breath clouds rising into the night. we just stood and stared, and that was probably the moment i realized that in the midst of my day to day sameness, void of visible change or promise of light at the end of the tunnel, i have matured - and i am learning how to live in the moment.

because there was nothing more still and more clear to me in that moment - the stilled ground, the still dark, my breath so evident and so crystal clear. it was as if we were the last people on earth. i was reminded that in the midst of the daily grind, i'm still alive and living and my mind is still flowing.

i needed that reminder.

& what's more, it was so beautiful to experience this stillness with another human being. & he knew it too. we will be forever interconnected in this way, in this sort of silent understanding we both had of each other and the night. we are both locked in this moment in time (& i think it's so sad that we cut ourselves off from one another via various technological means). we are all so close, yet we keep one another at such a distance (i will write more on this later). it was so nice to be.


the days might be blending together, but i know now that i am growing more distinct, more sharply outlined against the future, whatever and wherever it is.