1 March 2011

March 1, 2011

There is a guy who sits next to me at Starbucks every morning. We sit in the comfy chairs in the corner and we put on our headphones and type. I heard that he’s a writer. He’s published a book or something, but we’ve never talked so I wouldn’t know. Anyways, I saw his screen this morning. It turns out he’s been coming to Starbucks every day to chat with some woman over webcam.

I’m leaving on vacation tomorrow. Portland. I told Janessa we should go look for the apartment where Donald Miller wrote Blue Like Jazz, but she said that would make us creepers.

So back to that guy at Starbucks. I thought I didn’t like him. Sometimes he spouts off about politics and automobiles and I pretend to not pay attention. I pretend my headphones are turned up real loud, even though they aren’t. Also, he keeps his shoulder bag on the table next to him so that he takes up twice as much space as he should, which makes me mad even though it doesn’t affect me. But this morning when I saw him talking with that woman, I decided I couldn’t not like him anymore. I felt sorry for him. I wanted him to be happy.

I read an article recently and all I remember is this: “You don’t have a career. You have a life.”

I’ve been thinking about this story where a man tries to save his marriage with the perfect combination of wildflowers. He drives for miles, days looking for them. He keeps bringing different ones home until their house is bulging with them, pedals falling out of windows, getting in their soup. It doesn’t work though. And the point is that sometimes, when there’s nothing left to do, we do things that don’t make sense.

The flower he really wanted was a heliotrope.

I’m not sure I’m going to update this while I’m gone. Probably not.

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