Muse resides in Panera
Woke up bright and early this morning with my throat feeling like it was stabbing itself repeatedly with my sharpened tonsils. I took some dayquill presuming that it would help ease the pain but with minimal results. A few days ago I wrote a list, a schedule really of everything that I needed to accomplish before the end of the weekend and so far I haven't been too productive. The only thing that I have done so far was purchasing a car and the sociology homework that only took fifteen minutes.
Even though I had a few hours before class, I sat around listening to music until it was time to go. Nothing too important today; that Hollister chic's boyfriend wasn't in class again so I sat beside her and continued our conversation from last month. She kept swiping my pen from my hand so she could sketch little moons on her notebook; I'm not sure if she's trying to flirt or if she's just a righteous bitch. She's pretty nonetheless, and she has a nice ass but in any case, I'm not interested in her.
Back at home there was a lot to do but there was a lack of motivation that kept me from doing anything besides think about my people and take a nap for a couple hours.
When I woke up again I felt like I needed to get out of the house so I left for Hull, stopping by Tobacco Count first for a pack of Djarum Blacks and Specials. Its been a while since I smoked a pack of my own. Next stop was Barnes and Noble to catch up with all the cats who might have noticed that I've been gone for a week. Unfortunately, there was only Nick and Shaw and they were at GameStop playing Mario Striker. The next fifteen minutes there didn't appeal to me so I left for Panera to visit Susannah. She looked busy when I arrived so I tried my best to stay out of the way as much as possible; eating my French onion soup on the couch with my notebooks, and only talking to her when she had some freedom away from the slave drivers. I felt an instant surge of creativity while sitting there observing people. The spirit of whatever muse I may have was present somewhere in the building, pushing its energy through my veins and forcing my words onto paper. Without trying to manipulate my own perceptions I let the ink mark the paper and become the first pages of the novel that may change the world. I think that Panera will become the place that I go to for inspiration from now on.
When I originally became a regular at Barnes and Noble it was to strike creativity, but everything was tainted when it became a location for social gatherings. I can’t even remember the last time that I walked out of the café with my notebooks, knowing that I had just written something substantial. I knew that the establishment was losing its touch but when this monthly drama kicked in, that ruined everything. There is absolutely no source for me there anymore. Or perhaps I just can’t sense it; maybe it’s hidden.
Panera left me with a good amount of reasoning as I read some Stephen King and wrote some of Brass and Nightshift. I have finally come to realize and come to terms with the fact that this writing has become an obsession for me. If I don’t write at least a haiku or a one-liner I feel incomplete. Writing isn’t my hobby, its my passion, my life. There’s a difference. Anyone can have a hobby with sculpting or painting; but it’s the ones with the passion that let it effect their life. Even if the government made it illegal to sculpt, paint, write, or whatever, there would still be people like me that would hide in the dark recesses of the earth and continue doing what we love. I work at Blockbuster as a source of income but I wouldn’t ever consider that my occupation. While running movies or ringing someone up at the cash register, some form of imagined dialogue is always traveling through my mind. I need to find some work ethic again; I haven’t had that in a really long time, so right now I’m making it my own personal goal to write a MINIMUM of 1,000 words a day of fiction to progress a novel. If my away message says “I’m working”, you’ll most likely find me at Panera giving myself the worst case of writer’s cramp.
The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”(-Mark Twain)
After she clocked out, Susannah left with me to Aladdin’s as planned. Her friends Sean and Morgan followed close behind as I led the way J. I haven’t had the chance to install a stereo in my car yet so it was up to conversation to break the silence. And nothing could have possibly amounted to this; I absolutely loved hearing her talk. We’re both writers and for that, we connect so well.
James hadn’t arrived yet so I ordered a grape hookah for the table. It was the first time that Sean or Morgan had ever smoked a hookah so in some ways, I broke them in…heh…
James came in completely dressed to impress and joined us in the poisoning that felt so pure. We chilled around for a while; he was quite flirtatious and ambitious around Susannah, casually biting and fucking around. He tends to go in for the strikes before I do, I’m too casual and contemplative, waiting for the right moment while he’ll go in for the kill at any time and any place. A Scorpio competing with a Libra, like a cheetah racing a wolf, he was the same way with Mandy. Before I left the house this afternoon I was playing Green Day’s Nice Guys Finish Last on my computer, irony? Its cool though, everyone seems happy with the way things are going so I can’t complain.
We left later then planned which wasn’t flowing too smoothly with Susannah having to be home by midnight (It was 12:01 when we got on I-95). She was really stressed and silent on the way home and I was worried about her as I pushed the Neon to the limit, flooring it most of the way home only slowing down in areas that my spider-sense felt the presence of cops.
I got her home twenty minutes later than I said I would and I felt really bad but I was almost certain that everything was going to be all right. Her parents seem like they would be cool about this since it doesn’t happen to frequently.
Tonight was very much needed and was perfect in most senses. Except for this headache and steady cough, I’m feeling great.
Tomorrow I need to get my homework done and clean the house. Layne and my mom are coming home Sunday and I had planned on having the place cleaned up by mid-week. Oh well… a day of procrastinated-driven stress won’t kill me.
I would get everything done tonight but instead I hear a bottle of nyquil and a new bag of cough drops calling my name.
Even though I had a few hours before class, I sat around listening to music until it was time to go. Nothing too important today; that Hollister chic's boyfriend wasn't in class again so I sat beside her and continued our conversation from last month. She kept swiping my pen from my hand so she could sketch little moons on her notebook; I'm not sure if she's trying to flirt or if she's just a righteous bitch. She's pretty nonetheless, and she has a nice ass but in any case, I'm not interested in her.
Back at home there was a lot to do but there was a lack of motivation that kept me from doing anything besides think about my people and take a nap for a couple hours.
When I woke up again I felt like I needed to get out of the house so I left for Hull, stopping by Tobacco Count first for a pack of Djarum Blacks and Specials. Its been a while since I smoked a pack of my own. Next stop was Barnes and Noble to catch up with all the cats who might have noticed that I've been gone for a week. Unfortunately, there was only Nick and Shaw and they were at GameStop playing Mario Striker. The next fifteen minutes there didn't appeal to me so I left for Panera to visit Susannah. She looked busy when I arrived so I tried my best to stay out of the way as much as possible; eating my French onion soup on the couch with my notebooks, and only talking to her when she had some freedom away from the slave drivers. I felt an instant surge of creativity while sitting there observing people. The spirit of whatever muse I may have was present somewhere in the building, pushing its energy through my veins and forcing my words onto paper. Without trying to manipulate my own perceptions I let the ink mark the paper and become the first pages of the novel that may change the world. I think that Panera will become the place that I go to for inspiration from now on.
When I originally became a regular at Barnes and Noble it was to strike creativity, but everything was tainted when it became a location for social gatherings. I can’t even remember the last time that I walked out of the café with my notebooks, knowing that I had just written something substantial. I knew that the establishment was losing its touch but when this monthly drama kicked in, that ruined everything. There is absolutely no source for me there anymore. Or perhaps I just can’t sense it; maybe it’s hidden.
Panera left me with a good amount of reasoning as I read some Stephen King and wrote some of Brass and Nightshift. I have finally come to realize and come to terms with the fact that this writing has become an obsession for me. If I don’t write at least a haiku or a one-liner I feel incomplete. Writing isn’t my hobby, its my passion, my life. There’s a difference. Anyone can have a hobby with sculpting or painting; but it’s the ones with the passion that let it effect their life. Even if the government made it illegal to sculpt, paint, write, or whatever, there would still be people like me that would hide in the dark recesses of the earth and continue doing what we love. I work at Blockbuster as a source of income but I wouldn’t ever consider that my occupation. While running movies or ringing someone up at the cash register, some form of imagined dialogue is always traveling through my mind. I need to find some work ethic again; I haven’t had that in a really long time, so right now I’m making it my own personal goal to write a MINIMUM of 1,000 words a day of fiction to progress a novel. If my away message says “I’m working”, you’ll most likely find me at Panera giving myself the worst case of writer’s cramp.
The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”(-Mark Twain)
After she clocked out, Susannah left with me to Aladdin’s as planned. Her friends Sean and Morgan followed close behind as I led the way J. I haven’t had the chance to install a stereo in my car yet so it was up to conversation to break the silence. And nothing could have possibly amounted to this; I absolutely loved hearing her talk. We’re both writers and for that, we connect so well.
James hadn’t arrived yet so I ordered a grape hookah for the table. It was the first time that Sean or Morgan had ever smoked a hookah so in some ways, I broke them in…heh…
James came in completely dressed to impress and joined us in the poisoning that felt so pure. We chilled around for a while; he was quite flirtatious and ambitious around Susannah, casually biting and fucking around. He tends to go in for the strikes before I do, I’m too casual and contemplative, waiting for the right moment while he’ll go in for the kill at any time and any place. A Scorpio competing with a Libra, like a cheetah racing a wolf, he was the same way with Mandy. Before I left the house this afternoon I was playing Green Day’s Nice Guys Finish Last on my computer, irony? Its cool though, everyone seems happy with the way things are going so I can’t complain.
We left later then planned which wasn’t flowing too smoothly with Susannah having to be home by midnight (It was 12:01 when we got on I-95). She was really stressed and silent on the way home and I was worried about her as I pushed the Neon to the limit, flooring it most of the way home only slowing down in areas that my spider-sense felt the presence of cops.
I got her home twenty minutes later than I said I would and I felt really bad but I was almost certain that everything was going to be all right. Her parents seem like they would be cool about this since it doesn’t happen to frequently.
Tonight was very much needed and was perfect in most senses. Except for this headache and steady cough, I’m feeling great.
Tomorrow I need to get my homework done and clean the house. Layne and my mom are coming home Sunday and I had planned on having the place cleaned up by mid-week. Oh well… a day of procrastinated-driven stress won’t kill me.
I would get everything done tonight but instead I hear a bottle of nyquil and a new bag of cough drops calling my name.