Back at the ol' grind again. Literally and figuratively.
Literally, back at another coffee house. This time, Starbucks. First time at this location, but am sort of surprised how exactly the same it feels to any other STarbucks, even the one I used to work at.
And this ramble, by the way, is my new practice that is my own version of "Morning Pages", the technique taught by creativity guru Julia Cameron in her book, "The ARtist's Way". Here's the gist of it:
Morning Pages are three pages of longhand, stream of consciousness writing, done first thing in the morning. There is no wrong way to do Morning Pages– they are not high art. They are about anything and everything that crosses your mind– and they are for your eyes only.
So here I go. Ramble about where I am. Sure, I may not be writing longhand as directed, but hey, she wrote that book back in the dinosaur ages of 1992, so she had no idea how easy it is to let your fingers deftly slide across the keys of a sleek, lightweight electronic device cradled comfortably in your pajama-clad lap. ok, I might not be wearing my pajamas anymore, as I sit here in this STarbucks, but you get the idea.
The purpose is to get yourself going. To just start writing. STart writing your daily boring stuff, nobody's going to read it, maybe not even yourself, in fact, probably most definitely not yourself because, as she says....
"You're trying to catch yourself before your ego's defences are in place."
ah, that cursed blank screen. mocking me.
Ramble. Sensory details. Feeling hot in this extra thick burbly oatmeal-ish sweater on top of two other thinner sweaters. Feeling a bit jittery at all the loud sounds and this strange new environment. Half calf Americano gently nudging my adrenalin, but not too bad.
Hearing, always the most annoying sense in these places.
(excuse me but I think one whole typed page will be about equal to three longhand pages, amiright? right..
Sounds: Unending conversation, words, by these 2 chicks at the next table. I've heard it said that women speak a ton more words per day than men do. That's the typical woman, though, not me. Very very ocassionally I might get involved in a great conversation with lots of words, but ohhh mann, that is so exhausting! I would go home after one of those, completley wiped out, ready to collapse. or so i dramatically exaggerate. Maybe just have some warm hot cocoa to ease me into a much needed nap. ok, back to sounds. BANG goes the convection oven, and that so familiar sound of those plastic wraps being torn off those breakfast sandwiches I used to pop in the oven there like they're doing up there...Water in the sink, "hey what's up, hey hey how ya doin" a loud extroverted guy saunters by, speaking to the folks around him. yeah, a regular, i bet. Music on speakers. don't recognize it, of course. another oatmeally sweater waiting for her drink. leggings and long boots like mine, too. out the door. guy in ugly sweats and baggy sweatshirt. not judiging.
am i done yet?
ok. more sounds. whoooooooosh of espresso machine. paper rustle of ugly sweats picking up a newspaper and waddling out.
Sights, on camera.
Smells, duh.
Tastes. Protein bar and americano.
Rants about life. Tensions in relationships, hidden plans, mutual worries over kids and their anxiety issues. My stomach hurts for them. I can't move in cold harsh boundary setting when my heart is lying on the floor, gripping the legs of my children, don't let go, babies, hang on, hang on, it's going to get better.
Thinking of other stuff i need to get done today but need to at least start this article first.
And the purpose of this morning pages is.....what???
oh yes. to go deeper. Deeper than what i see. what i hear. make connections. analogies. like the way my toe is slightly scrunched in the corner of my boot. is that an analogy to something in my life? and why is that dumb barista wearing shorts? oh yeah i remember, it gets hot back there. You come in wearing a black sweater over your black clothes, but hey look at them now, they're allowed to wear jeans and other neutral colors! wow. anyway, you wait on a couple customers, run back and forth from the drive-thru to the hot oven and ugh, you want to strip down to your birthday suit you're so hot.
going deeper. making up lives for these people in my vicinity. and now it's time to stop. I really think I need to go home and write my article. I"ve got snow on the mind. Need to stop at the store and fight the multitudes in the bread and milk aisles.
outta here. see ya..
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