Tuna Sandwich, Anyone?

18 Nov


This past weekend was a blur of writing and tuna sandwiches.

I throw tuna sandwiches in there just to brag because I made myself a tuna sandwich twice in the past few days and now feel like at least 20% a cook.

30% when I add canned soup to the mix.

My poor mother is wondering where she went wrong with me as she reads this.  Sorry, Mom, you did your best.  Cooking just does not hold my attention.

When you spend so much time doing one thing, I think you lose part of your mind, or at least when I spend so much time doing one thing I lose part of my mind.  When I’m so very focused on writing and so very little focused on anything else I go a little bit crazy and suddenly it’s early morning and I haven’t slept and I start to take tuna sandwiches as a win.

To be fair, I added some ground pepper, so these were extra fancy tuna sandwiches.

Stop there?

At one point on Saturday I decided it was time to leave the house and the little den of crazy I had created and see the big, bright world.  In a fit of excitement I threw on my muumuu, fluffy sweater and moccasins and ventured to my local coffee shop, a small joint called “The Coffee Bean” you may or may not have heard of.

As I waited for my order, I looked around me and had one of those moments where I kind of saw myself as others see me.  My clothing was definitely out of the norm, and combined with my wild hair and The Brothers Karamazov in hand, I was straight up the town kook, finally emerging to see the sunlight.

I have to admit, I was a little bit happy about this.

There was an extra bounce to my step as I found myself a nice little spot outside where I could people watch and live up to my potential as a writer.  I opened my laptop and thought, “Yes, perhaps this is the key.  I am now a J.K. Rowling type who writes at coffee shops and produces fantastic works all while sipping my soy.”

This happy thought lasted all of two minutes as I found the sun to be uncomfortable and the people around me to be bothersome, and the comings and goings of others to be absolutely unbearable and MUST THEY MAKE SO MUCH NOISE?

There’s a reason my writing routine consists of me and my bed and that’s it.

I’m not a coffee shop writer.

I’m not a J.K. Rowling. (In more ways than one, but let’s not go into that now.)

As soon as I realized that coffee shop writing was not working out for me, I said a silent goodbye to the blonde hipster I imagine was working on a vegan startup company, walked home, crawled into bed and wrote.

Weekend of crazy, goodbye to you.

Tuna sandwich, maybe hello to you again soon.

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