The Daily Post sponsors the #weekendcoffeeshare. Twitter is also using this hashtag. If this is something you’d like to do, whether it be weekly like it’s supposed to be or the way I do it, once a month, I hope you will join in.
[Your dialogue is in navy. My dialogue is in maroon.]
Somehow both of us got out of our respective homes early, which was a good thing seeing that the day is predicted to be a hot one. We opted for a small coffee shop/cafe not on the main drag, hoping to be able to sit outside on the modest terrace they provide. Once we have our mugs brimmed and a plate of miniature goodies, we set ourselves at a table under one of the Locust trees.
“After being an obsessive coffeeholic, how are you holding up with the tea?” You take one of the packets of flavored creamer and dump the contents into your mug.
I swish my tea bag in the hot water, hoping to make the tea take hold faster and change the color to the translucent brown. “Me obsessive? You drink more than your share.” We both let out a chuckle before I continue. “It was questionable at first but not foreign. Seeing I have tea when I am not feeling well, it was not like drinking something unknown. And it did not take me long to get used to the taste and actually enjoy it.”
“Don’t you miss the creamers?”
“Creamers are just added empty calories. Besides, if I really start craving creamer, I can always have the chai latte sitting in my cupboard. One thing is for sure, the caffeine in tea does not make me agitated. A definite plus.”
We sit in a moment of silence nibbling on mini muffins. The breeze kicks up a little making the leaves flutter.
“I did not think you were the type to get upset easily. Are things all right?” you ask peering at me closely.
I laugh briefly before taking a sip of tea. “Nothing earth-shattering. I’ve been exceedingly frustrated and discourage with my writing. I think I might be coming out of this funk, though. Slowly, like an old snail but still moving forward. Maybe it has something to do with the time of year.”
“Maybe but it could be something else. What brought it on?”
“The same old thing. Expecting too much too soon. You know me–the impatient perfectionist.” I look down into my cup. I hate these flaws in me, yet know they keep me pushing for more out of myself–which is a good thing.
I gaze across the terrace, letting my eyes rest on a man feverishly typing away on his laptop while his beverage sits there getting cold, or maybe hot. “I wish I could be like him.” I make a slight gesture to him so you know who I am talking about.
“Can I make a suggestion?” You look at me over the top of your mug resting firmly in both hands. “I think you need to slow down with your writing.” I give you a surprising look. “Keep on writing the same number of hours but let yourself stop to wonder, don’t push yourself by thinking you must get it done. I don’t think you are letting yourself enjoy the journey.”
I stop gulping my tea and begin to sip it instead while I take another gander at the man across the patio. “You know, I don’t think I am enjoying the journey right now. I am not so sure your idea will fix my problem but it is worth a try.”
We finish our drinks doing some people-watching, making small remarks in whispers.
Are there times when the joy of writing has gone out of your journey?