There is SO much I want to write about.
An INCREDIBLE problem to have.
But for some reason: today has done its best to foible me.
I slept so very much yesterday and woke up bushy-tailed. I packed my bag, brushed my teeth and Jasper & I were off to Brunswick to find a cafe to write in.
Nobody told me there was a fucking art festival going on.
Now, it's important to make it clear that I actually am very happy that art festivals are still a thing (though I don't envy anyone attempting an interaction there - you just know it's ALL going to be "wElL wItH aLl ThIs A.i. EvErYwHeRe..." Jesus. Like, can we just fucking agree that if we all share the same EXACT opinion on something that we don't need to talk about it at length? Fighting imaginary battles and repeating the same things you said at the office earlier that week - and likely the week before - that somebody made the grave mistake of giving an approving nod to? Anyway). It was just one of those things where it feels like nothing's ever going on in this godforsaken place until I just want nothing to really be going on. At which point: there is a literal festival. It's not all about me. I will get over it. It just kinda sucked because of COURSE it was on a day that I woke up at a reasonably early time and finally had things to write about. I wasn't even really hungry! So I didn't even need to find a special vegan place! I was so streamlined for success. Oh well. You win some, you lose some.
It extra-sucks that I was going to try that super cozy place my friends told me I should go to. I even tried the slightly-further-away-from-downtown-fanfare place - the one I always go to - and that place was well fucked, too. I used the bathroom, thanked the person working near the door and left. For a moment, I entertained the idea of going to the illusive vegan donut shop a mere 15 minutes away, but figured third time would be less of "The Charm" and more of "The Last Straw". So I salvaged what I could of the drive between good jams and cigarettes - topped with a giant black iced coffee once I got back in town - and called time of death.
Now I am starving (but waiting for N to come home so we can eat together), annoyed and my list of things that I've been wanting to write about has not shrunk in the least because now I have to get this annoying stuff out of my system. At least I'm writing, now. And at least I'm not getting bumped into and shoved around or even still looking for parking. Brunswick really just isn't built for large events like that. Portland is, but Brunswick is not. There's not even enough parking on a Thursday morning during a lull. Reminds me of this downtown area in Rochester, NY. Actually, it reminds me of most downtown areas in Rochester. Except for this one spot near this one cafe that had incredible espresso, but the kids behind the counter always looked like they were planning your demise. ("Why does my espresso taste funny today? ...! KADEN, NO!" *passes away*.)
And now I sit here, guiltily sipping my rehydrated soup so that I do not faint before N arrives. It is the time I leave work most days. And have accomplished hardly a thing.
Here's something that I know that you don't know that I must remind myself of:
Once I found out that this weekend was astrological perfection for aha moments and open minds, I decided to let this weekend be an non-accomplishment-driven one. I decided that with the planets aligning in such a way, with my sudden influx of cranial activity, with my favorite season quickly coming to an end; that I would let this weekend be for whatever it could be. I decided to let my inspirations lead me, even if that meant from project to project without ever finishing one.
So maybe the art festival cock-block was just divine intervention / a sweet little reminder of the intention I had already set for myself.
Thanks, Universe. You're a real one.
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