You’ll note that there’s no pretty picture today, in honor of the subject of this post.
No one wants to see blurry pictures of a concert or even crappy live footage of a person’s voice, clearly drowned out by a crowd that has screamed itself hoarse.
Additionally, stop instagramming pictures of that bagel with schmear that you ordered from Panera, because they all look the same. And if you follow the #bagel through the depths of the internet, you will find thousands of pictures identical to yours.
I mean, of course I didn‘t actually take a picture of her. Got this online yo
She sits alone in a corner booth, as natural light peeks through the blinds. I don’t know how long she has been there, or how long she will stay, but I know that she looks comfortable. The table that is meant for four supports her computer, a notebook, a pencil, and multiple sheets of paper that she has spread out. There’s a neglected sandwich and diluted cup of who knows what drink sitting off to the side. The way that she listens intently to her headphones that are plugged into the computer and takes notes diligently seems to indicate that she’s probably in college. Her hair is dark and curly, yet all I see is her profile. People like her go to coffee shops alone because they don’t need to be with people 24/7. People like her either are introverted and work best individually or really just need to put their mind to the paper and study-udy-udy. Whatever the case was, I feel that this girl was truly working hard on that Monday afternoon.
The coffee shop though, was more local than global. There’s only a few of its kind, all through that area. People in Pittsburgh will never taste its coffee. The shop’s got that rustic, neighborhood bread and bakery, homey sort of feel. The sandwiches are freshly made, the regulars are actually real-life regulars, and someone decorated the place so that it’s a one-of-a-kind. Who hangs out here? People who’ve been here every week for the past few years of their life. They come, buy something, and then settle down in a corner with a book or computer, the way that everyone seems to do in a Starbucks or Caribou. Somehow, though, this place is different. Where are the cake pops? The calorie counting menus? Nonsense; none of that here. Whether their coffee is somehow better than worse than the chains’, I will never know. You will never know, as it is a question largely indeterminable, yet often arbitrarily decided by the “experts.” What it may lack in flavor, this quaint little shop makes up in originality and character.
But what about the coffee itself? Where does it come from? You only know what comes in the paper cup. You only taste what is left after the beans have been ground and diluted with water, tainted with cream and sugar. Is it still the same bean that was growing on the tree in Colombia? As it lives, it exists in so many forms. The bean is harvested, packaged, shipped across the world, ground, brewed, and the remains are thrown away. But are the leftover grounds really “remains”? What if what we consume is the unwanted, the residual of something magical? What if the cure to cancer is in those little dregs? In the present day, they speed up the composting process, providing nutrients to soil that will eventually be used to grow more coffee plants. The simple bean reflects a continuous cycle.
New bed, am I right or am I right? ^
No, I was not actually homeless for a day. Perhaps this title was a little misleading. What I mean to depict is that I’m moving to a new house in a few days, and so the process of moving from one location to the next will essentially make me “homeless for a day” (or so).
A new house represents a new beginning. We are going to move into our new home just around New Years, so this winter will be full of clean slates and fresh starts.
A new house means no scuffs and scratches on the walls. It’s when all of your belongings are stuffed into boxes and there’s no excuse not to organize all of your possessions, because speak now or forever hold your piece; if you put it off now, organization is going to stay at the bottom of your to-do list FOREVER. It’s the perfect time to reorganize your closet or rearrange your furniture.
Typically, moving is more effective than “spring cleaning”. This is when that “out with the old, in with the new” phenomenon takes place. It’s the best time to toss your junk and buy newer junk. Toss out the old couch, and bring in that new futon!
A new house means choosing a new wall color, and getting to mentally decide what exactly the meaning is of that “soft periwinkle” shade on which you took hours to decide.
Ah, the frustration of having to both disassemble and reassemble your bed over the time-span of two days, and the irritation of fitting objects through doorways and transporting heavy items up flights of stairs.
It means that you can use the brown cardboard boxes as an excuse not to get other things done because your work was “trapped in a room whose doorway was cluttered with boxes,” as I claimed to my third grade piano teacher as the reason why I didn’t practice piano for three weeks.
A new house means not being able to instinctively feel your way to the bathroom in the dark for the first couple of nights, because you haven’t adjusted quite yet.
It means reaching for a bowl to dump cereal in and feeling a new cabinet knob, and it means passing through the garage to leave the house and feeling an unfamiliar door handle.
It might represent a downgrade or upgrade of your life, depending on the difference of the sizes of your previous home and your new abode.
It might mean adding someone new in your life, whether it be a boyfriend, or three new roommates.
Maybe you’re moving just ten minutes down the street (like me) or potentially ten states over. But it means your street won’t look the same and you won’t be able to recall which mailbox is yours for a few days. You’ll have to memorize a new address and redirect all of your magazine subscriptions to a new location.
It means that the way the rain hits the roof sounds different, so you won’t be able to sleep as easily when it rains at night because the new and unfamiliar sound will intrigue you, and you’ll stay up listening to the curious rhythm.
It’s not that I don’t love writing, because believe me, I do. It’s just that some days I come home absolutely deflated, and not in the mood to write. So I turn to my inspirational muses (in no particular order).
I remember about a year ago, before I’d even considered starting a personal blog, that I found an extremely thought-provoking post from Thought Catalog. It was about snuggling. The reason why it stuck with me is because it was very descriptive. I found myself looking through my internet history trying to find it a couple of months later, for motivation to write a descriptive paper in English class. And I looked back again right before I wrote my first post for the blog. Thought Catalog was the first blog I ever followed, and the sheer variety of topics that it blogs about astounds me. Of course, it’s made up of a diversity of writers, but that just means that there’s a section for every sort of reader. I find myself looking a lot to this blog when I’m looking for topics to write about, and styles to adapt and take notice of. Its minimalist design and breadth of articles makes it my go-to source for inspiration. Continue reading