The latest assignment (which I’m three days behind on…oy..) is to write a post as if you’re catching up with a friend over coffee. I suppose it’s only appropriate that I’m having some coffee while writing this post.
So let’s say we met up after ages (or what seems like ages) in a favorite coffee shop. Oh, how nice it would be to meet in an old neighborhood cafe where silver-haired servers chirp in sing-song voices while taking your order and are always ready with a freshly brewed pot and a smile. Most likely though, we’d be catching up in a Starbucks or something. Which is fine.
If we were having coffee, my first priority would be the coffee itself, along with a muffin or a croissant. A slice of carrot cake, maybe. Or cheesecake, because I’ll never refuse cheesecake. I like my coffee black. Time was, I’d load up on cream and sugar, but nowadays I find that to be cloyingly sweet, so I stick with black. Though a latte or cappuccino isn’t out of the question. And if ’tis the season, some pumpkin spiced concoction. But I digress.
We’d talk of this and of that. Random happenings in our lives, major events (of which there have been few lately) and perhaps reminiscences of times past, when we were young and stupid.
I’d probably mention the various frustrations I’m facing with my job, which had seemed like something of a dream job when I’d started 5 months ago, but has proven to be mired in the mundanity of the real world. I might talk about what a drab work environment it is, and how work friends are pretty much impossible because there’s nobody I can relate to on any level. I might even go on to mention that the only people I like talking to nowadays can be found on the internet, chatting it up with me in my own living-room, and yet oceans away.
If I were to catch you up on my life at present, I’d talk about still struggling to accept that my twenties are behind me (and may have been partially wasted), hoping to one day find a job that doesn’t dissolve into dissatisfaction after a few months, looking for friendship in a world of concrete and steel, and on a somewhat fruitless quest for love (though I hate to bring up the mushy stuff if I can help it). Fiction isn’t merely escapism, but a true escape from the monochrome world I find myself in. I write tales far more interesting than the ones I live, and devour stories like a malnourished orphan. It makes my world better.
Well, that turned out to be a bummer of a coffee date. Maybe we should get something stronger than coffee next time.
But enough of my prattling.
What’s up with you?