All of my writing gets done in this coffee shop, it seems.
And there’s always a dude just standing at the communal counter staring at nothing for hours and hours. He occasionally stares at me. I tend to glare back for no reason.
It’s January 13th, and I feel like I’ve already done more shit in 2018 than I ever did in 2017. In these thirteen days, I’ve managed to ring in the new year with a record-breaking amount of people in my home without any casualties, I’ve done a wicked awesome photoshoot, I’ve added two tattoos to my skin, I had a goddamn hardcore band thrashing and screaming in my face for a music video that I somehow ended up being the main protagonist in, and I managed to start getting up before 3pm everyday. But not by much. ‘Sbeen good.
In addition, I’ve stocked up on patience, painted my nails and figured out what the fuck my lovelife and home life equates to, and it turns out I’m not hating it. I have a lot of room to breathe, and instead of my usual request to be suffocated I am learning to appreciate the fresh air.
Somewhere in between all of these people being in my house and needles being stuck into my skin I figured out that I don’t give nearly enough time for things to work out on their own. I’m constantly demanding to know what’s going on, who’s going to be there, when it’s going to be done, when in actuality life doesn’t work that way and instead of being furious about it I should learn to appreciate the waiting period. The period of time when you don’t know if it’s going to work out, but you’re sticking around to find out anyways. The time when you’re awake, but still too sleepy to do anything productive. The moment when you’re deciding whether or not to have another cup of coffee. The months where you’re trying to develop something for the future based on a singular feeling. Because when you think about it, the paused and indecisive moments are grand and will soon begin to become sparse.
The last 8 months, I’ve had it pretty fucking sweet. I am completing my Community Support Work degree online, meaning I have had no job, no reason to leave on a more-than-bitterly-cold day, and no teachers breathing down my neck this whole time. I’m about to graduate soon, and it’s dawned on me that the long hours spent in Good Earth, the cramming to get essays done on Sundays, the drunkenly writing discussion posts on Thursdays… they’ll be exiting my daily routine fairly soon. To be replaced by Maxwell House coffee, taking clients, wearing pantsuits. And I’m going to miss the fuck out of this.
Generally speaking, I’m going to miss this part of my life. For one of the first times ever, I am completely cognizant of the fact that I’m in a period that will be remembered as ‘the good old days’, and I’m still in them.
All of a sudden, I feel foolish for complaining about school, boys, weight, whether or not I should keep going etc. because I now know I’m going to look back and miss nearly every character and situation I’ve encountered at this time.
So I guess I’m writing this rant (even though I said I wouldn’t do these weird ramblings anymore) to remind whoever needs it that, hey, you might be in the good times right now. Or at least times that aren’t totally as awful as some times have been.
Try to enjoy the mundane day to day things you do, bearing in mind that routines change. Good Earth turns into Maxwell, the walk from your house to Co-Op might turn into Safeway, fishnets might turn to nylon. And it’s always nice to be able to recall how things were.
Tomorrow, I might be banging my head against the wall. But at least I’ll have realized that there were good times, very recently.
I’ll be seeing you soon.
Bonus: in one of my many tailspins, some idiot quoted some Pink Floyd to me.
You are young, and life is long, and there is time to kill today.
And I’ll be damned if that’s not exactly what the fuck is happening right now. And I’m cool with it.