sitting and listening

I'm at my old favorite coffeeshop on Alberta, the Black Cat, which was the birthplace of this blog, where I sat, hours and hours on end, last winter when I was leaving CB, studying for exams, living in the cold attic room at my friend Kristen's. I started the blog to help keep me level when everything around me was turbulent. I sat in the coffeeshop, studied for hours while everything churned under the surface, then I'd stop, open my computer, and everything that had been churning would come blasting out like water from a burst pipe. Those were the early blogs.

Now, without looking too much at the middle space, I'm back at my coffeeshop, sitting outside, alone, listening to these two young people next to me have some kind of courtship conversation -- he's in a band and has stopped talking mid-sentence three times to sing to her, she asks him too many questions and laughs too much at everything he says. They make me a little bit sick. SK is across the river trying to figure out if she wants to be in a relationship with me. I have some hope -- she's checked my blog twice since she sent me home this morning. No Sunday brunch and New York Times for us today. It's all the same, the Times didn't come this morning anyway.