Um...What??

It Rarely Benefits Me To Actually Leave The House

Today???

Went to favorite Starbucks and WAS ALMOST MORTALLY WOUNDED BY OWN VANILLA LATTE. MULTIPLE TIMES.

It started when straw would not go into lid. Pushed. Poked. Rammed. Accomplished nothing but the continual spewing of coffee out from semi-hole and onto every square inch of hands. Straw still not in? Coffee out all over? CHECK.

More stubborn pushing. The introduction of vague cursing. Then noticed oversized ice cube possibly blocking opening. Bent to look closer. Misjudged distance of face from straw. Did not actually succeed in poking out own eye and maybe impaling brain, but came as close as medically possible. Much time spent blinking incessantly and rubbing at eyeball. But no crying. Supposedly. Straw now on ground. STILL NO DELICIOUS LATTE HAD HIT TASTE BUDS.

Took off lid, removed gigantic ice cube monstrosity (resembled large ice sculpture seen at weddings, maybe swan?) and flung toward metal trashcan harder than necessary (AS WAS ANNOYED). Missed opening. Ice sculpture instead hit side of can and broke apart. One piece ricocheted back toward head like stray bullet. Saved own life via impressive, reflexive ducking/contorting. Looked around but was only one outside. Disappointed no one there to admire gymnast-like display.

Lid would then not go back onto latte. Spewed/slopped more coffee on hands during effort. Escalated cursing. Lid suddenly, mysteriously too small for cup despite fact it had just come off same cup. (Weird physics-related anomaly?) Gave up. Went back inside to retrieve new lid and new straw. Some delicious latte had by then hit taste buds if finger, palm and back-of-hand licking are counted.

Returned to patio where new lid finally went onto cup after much forcing and finagling. (Guessing Starbucks job application process includes lid/cup coordination test. Would fail miserably.) New straw then also went in with minimal effort thanks to aforementioned ice sculpture removal. Long sip. Contended sigh. Longer sip.

Once no longer parched, made move to throw out old straw and lid in trashcan about four steps away from current location. Discovered four steps about two more than needed to FALL DOWN ON FACE WITH FLAIR NOT SEEN SINCE GRACIE HART IN MISS CONGENIALITY:

    

(Subtitles?? Blog now multilingual!)

Missed hitting chin on metal chair by mere few inches. Was suddenly very happy no one else out on patio to witness Loss Of All Remaining Dignity. Stood up, threw out trash and ultimately made it back to seat in one piece. Refused to move again until time to go for fear of ONCE AGAIN INVITING OWN DEATH.

Managed, however, to retain overall happiness due to drinking of delicious Starbucks latte. No doubt better coffee than Benjamin Bratt drinking in clip. Though might adopt Benjamin Bratt drinking style. Note cup: NO SIGN OF LID WHATSOEVER.

Better Tasting Than a Coma

This scrumptious little place? Is Totally Saving My Life! This is the Starbucks across the street from where I live, and its wonderful, walking-distance proximity has little to do with why I adore this spot on earth so much.

The last few years of my life have been exhausting, to say the least. I am worn down. Worn out. Just...worn. I mean if someone could please be so kind as to induce a coma in me I would really appreciate it because then maybe I could RELAX. (Oh, but please wash my hair and shave my legs for me while I'm out because honestly? A loss of higher brain function is still no excuse for poor hygiene. Not to mention no one wants to see my hairy legs.) I'm a worrier by nature, so imagine what's happened to me now that I've actually been given real things to worry about: My future. The future and well-being of a lovely, innocent, two-year-old girl. Whether or not the man I love is going to survive what's happening to him now and come out the same person on the other side so we can finally (FINALLY) (DID I MENTION FINALLY?) have our life together. (FINALLY. By the way.)

But this cozy place is where I go to regroup and regain back whatever amount of sanity I've managed to lose track of during the previous week. (Sadly, it's way too fleeting these days.) There's something about sitting in this patio that's never failed to calm my increasingly restless soul. I used to go just about every weekend – sometimes both Saturday and Sunday – but I'd kind of gotten out of the habit since Moses arrived on the scene. (I would, however, still take my coffee to go because no coffee? Is not an option.) I finally got myself back here this past weekend and as soon as butt hit chair I realized how much I'd missed it.

It had been so long since I felt so good just...existing. You know, feeling like just being alive is enough and that if not one thing ever changed for the rest of my days that would be okay because I...am. I had my book to get lost in, my iced vanilla latte to sip on (Yum! Legal crack!) and the perfect mixture of sunshine and breezes and shade to make me wonder, if only temporarily, how I could POSSIBLY worry about all of the thousands of things I worry about every day.

Sitting here grants me in equal parts just the right amount of life and activity and just the right amount of stillness and peace. Here, I can participate in the ebb and flow of life around me but still remain mostly anonymous. There are familiar faces, people who recognize me and smile but then leave me alone. And as any one of my friends can attest to, being left alone by strangers in public is one of my favorite activities. (And on the rare occasion where I do talk to you, or even initiate the conversation? I have probably been drinking.)  There are children, dogs, friends catching up, people working, reading and writing and the occasional book club meeting or two. It can be lively but never seems crowded or noisy, and on almost all occasions people here are aware and respectful of what others are doing around them. (How many public places can you say THAT about?) All these things – combined with the sanity-giving deliciousness of my vanilla latte – somehow allow me to reboot; to re-set my inner perspective on the world. Come ON girl! Remember that life is wonderful.

And that's what happened this weekend. I did remember. And gave thanks. And was happy. You know, until about 16 hours later (probably close to seven of which I spent sleeping so does that even count?) when I forgot again at the second my specific life came back full force in my face to remind me that it also, actually, can TANK.

But there's always next weekend, right?