what’s it like?

an adventure! to carry a coconut latte with a mushroom top and a croissant— both on plates, of course—up a flight and a half of stairs without spilling!

my focus completely absorbed by this task…….

and about how i promised the baristas that i would make it up there fine without a tray.…….

and how excited i am to tell them when i go back down that i made it without a spill!

my mind after a hit (some would call it two) of weed.

savoring omni

just saw me slowly eating a croissant.

i watched as i began to whirl in self-criticism about something i was feeling.

i savored as the croissant headed into my mouth faster and faster.

i facepalmed as i realized my plate was now empty.

i recounted.

i talk and talk and you just sit there

i prefer to take my time and enjoy myself rather than make sure i’m responding in a “normal” amount of time.

yet

a man walks up to the terrace. looks around, searching for something. walks toward me a few paces. keeps looking.

we make eyes once and then again.

he keeps looking.

what’s he looking for? why am i getting nervous?

ok, ok, you’re just working on your writing. just stay focused on that. there’s a guy here now. so what. just keep reading.

ok, yeah, what was i reading? what was the whole thing about again? uhhh, come on, remember.…

oh jeez, what is he searching for? is he looking at me? is he gonna talk to me for some reason? why would he?

…trying to maintain my appearance as “focused on my work” when i’m clearly attuned only to his presence.

he leaves.

i instantly snap out of it—realize i could have had a whole conversation with the guy in the time that it took me to feel and think all that. haha!

if i am truly creating my own reality, then this feeling is like a sign to speak up and connect. it’s like a freebie handed to you by the universe, a straggler coming up to an empty terrace to look around…

…the coordinations that have to take place in order for that guy to be your reality…

and of course: your reality is yours.

something about you conjured him. or not and it’s one of the truly random pokes that happen haphazardly in ordered chaos.

the next guy comes up. it’s the barista. i have to say something.

“i made it all the way up without a single spill!”

we giggle. he waves, leaves. i facepalm.

ahh, much better! (lol)

lull

what if we start saying lol

tossed out of parted lips,

from the back of the throat,

short and quick,

swallowing the ‘o’

a grunt of mild amusement

…

or maybe mdr.