i've started to trust what i can feel in my bones.
i felt violated when i discovered my text messages were being read while i was busting my ass steaming milk and carrying out orders - being the coffee bitch, if you will. i felt especially smothered when i learned that my online accounts might have been hacked into, and even more so when i was quite violently approached and turned into a piece of property.
i quit.
& i won't miss it. not even a little. i'm too afraid to ever go back. i won't even go to collect the last of my tip money.
& at the same time, i'm trusting something new that i can feel in my bones. for the first time in my life, i'm experiencing the most vivid and real relationship i've ever had. there is nothing more freeing than sitting beneath the moonlight on a clear night, sharing the night air, listening to the frogs and the crickets and the world breathing around you. there is nothing more raw and real than the simple gesture of a hand you trust helping you stand and walking you through the dark to something Real, guiding you without question or a price to pay, or expectation or judgment. there is nothing better than laughing because you both can't sleep in, so you go out to breakfast at 7 AM on a saturday before the rest of the world wakes up for the best cup of coffee and the best spinach and eggs, and the simplest conversation.
i haven't had butterflies since the tenth grade. this is where i've been for the past month.
i promise to start writing poetry again. i can feel something that was buried deep within my bones starting to surface.
[it's funny how everything always happens all at once. we (or i) have these long stretches of time where literally nothing exciting occurs. i spent an entire year pouring coffee and sweeping dirty floors, doing everything in my power to change my routine, make it interesting, and not Lose Hope.
& then everything reaches this climax. i'm suddenly being frighteningly stalked; i'm suddenly landing job interviews left and right (& securing my first Real job); i'm suddenly meeting a set of parents and wondering if it's okay for me to be feeling what i'm feeling; i'm quitting jobs; i'm moving to boston; i'm not sure if i can call myself single anymore. i'm in transition in literally every aspect of my life. & wow].
my hopes are so high.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
My Last Monday.
it was your typical sort of monday - relaxed. everyone likes to ease into their work weeks, and everyone is very serious on mondays, as if it's the most important of all days for getting things done - the prime day of the rat race of the working world, from what i've observed, at least. business suits are pressed, collars neatly folded, briefcases held with such an air of importance.
i've spend every monday for the past year making cappuccinos and trying hard not to spill soup or drop stacks of dirty dishes. i've spent every monday pouring dark roast coffee to the woodshop men, and conversing with P about her Middle Eastern/Islamic studies, and she recently told me that she's thinking about moving away, and I think she's grown more lonely; A got her usual large iced tea, and L got his usual salad, and between all of these people, I have started to wonder about the nature of routine - why we stick to the same thing every day, why we are so inclined to order the same sandwich each day from the same place at the same hour, why we are so opposed to changes, or left to feel as though we are floundering around in the middle of the ocean when our favorite coffee flavor has run out.
yet, i do appreciate the routine same old same old. it allows me to think about other things as I swipe their credit cards.
as always, M got his chocolate chip cookie, no bag; B got her French roast coffee and chatted aimlessly to mostly herself about the recent water contamination in Boston; D came in and had his five shot latte with skim, and he asked me how i have been, and he seemed very troubled.
i performed my usual routine of staring longingly out the windows, pretending to clean things i'd already cleaned so as not to be yelled at by C, and had my break on the back porch with my black iced coffee.
black coffee. there is something so fresh and so real tasting about plain, black coffee, especially over ice. it's bitter and raw and real. as real and close to the original as can be.
these cafe mondays - the man with the root beer and chips, the women & their 'stitch and bitch' group and their piles of beautiful yarns in the sunlight, the peaceful solitude of empty chairs, pushed in neatly and waiting to be filled, the railroad man and his toasted muffins - were all so good to me, so colorful, so comfortable, so steady and predictable and sure. i will miss them.
on a lighter note, the walk-in freezer broke today.
so long, cafe mondays.
it was your typical sort of monday - relaxed. everyone likes to ease into their work weeks, and everyone is very serious on mondays, as if it's the most important of all days for getting things done - the prime day of the rat race of the working world, from what i've observed, at least. business suits are pressed, collars neatly folded, briefcases held with such an air of importance.
i've spend every monday for the past year making cappuccinos and trying hard not to spill soup or drop stacks of dirty dishes. i've spent every monday pouring dark roast coffee to the woodshop men, and conversing with P about her Middle Eastern/Islamic studies, and she recently told me that she's thinking about moving away, and I think she's grown more lonely; A got her usual large iced tea, and L got his usual salad, and between all of these people, I have started to wonder about the nature of routine - why we stick to the same thing every day, why we are so inclined to order the same sandwich each day from the same place at the same hour, why we are so opposed to changes, or left to feel as though we are floundering around in the middle of the ocean when our favorite coffee flavor has run out.
yet, i do appreciate the routine same old same old. it allows me to think about other things as I swipe their credit cards.
as always, M got his chocolate chip cookie, no bag; B got her French roast coffee and chatted aimlessly to mostly herself about the recent water contamination in Boston; D came in and had his five shot latte with skim, and he asked me how i have been, and he seemed very troubled.
i performed my usual routine of staring longingly out the windows, pretending to clean things i'd already cleaned so as not to be yelled at by C, and had my break on the back porch with my black iced coffee.
black coffee. there is something so fresh and so real tasting about plain, black coffee, especially over ice. it's bitter and raw and real. as real and close to the original as can be.
these cafe mondays - the man with the root beer and chips, the women & their 'stitch and bitch' group and their piles of beautiful yarns in the sunlight, the peaceful solitude of empty chairs, pushed in neatly and waiting to be filled, the railroad man and his toasted muffins - were all so good to me, so colorful, so comfortable, so steady and predictable and sure. i will miss them.
on a lighter note, the walk-in freezer broke today.
so long, cafe mondays.
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