Weekend Coffee Share #30


If we were having coffee, you would find me sitting outside in front of a computer. I’ve been focusing a lot on my writing lately, and today is no exception. Last weekend, I began trying to pinpoint my “voice” and I’ve been practicing with different styles of writing. I took a look at my blog, too, to see how or if it fit. One thing that struck me was the name of my blog: “Creo Somnium.”  Sounds cool, right? Short, a little mysterious. Cooler than the original name: “I Didn’t Just Wake Up This Morning With A Craving.”

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Weekend Coffee Share #27


If we were having coffee, you would find me shamefaced when you walk in. I had stopped here earlier this week, I tell you. I didn’t have quite enough money, so I took a few pennies from the “leave one/take one” bowl that businesses often put up. `Only it wasn’t a leave one/take on bowl, it was the tip jar, I realized later. I took money from the tip jar. I felt so tacky.

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Weekend Coffee Share #26


If we were having coffee, you would have saved a table for us and you would be reading. You show me the cover of Devil in the White City, and say that you heard its finally going to be made into a movie. I am also reading that, and like it, but for some reason, it’s just taking me forever to get through. You start to giggle. Well yeah! you say, But not because Wee One takes up too much time. I bought it on my little iBooks app on my iPhone, and I think that’s the problem – it’s just a tiny screen.

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Weekend Coffee Share #22


If we were having coffee, you would wander in slowly. You had a rough night last night, but a lot of fun. I was happy to hear details about your trip to a party your husband’s coworker threw, and I was happy to get you a coffee. And speaking of party, 

If we were having coffee, I would remind you of those guys who were barbecuing last weekend and had the loud party and woke me up… I saw one of them do something yesterday that really bothered me.  They were playing with the neighbor’s kids again, water fights, but it was almost all the kids in the apartment complex having a water fight with these guys. The thing is, there are like five of these guys and some are better than others. On the good end, one is patient and kind to the kids, helping them out even as they were “adversaries,” talking friendly smack. On the bad end, they were cursing at the kids and bullying them.

There was one girl in particular; and I’ve seen her around for awhile. She’s not as liked as the other girls, though I know she wants to be. She’s the tallest and she’s Indian, to name just a few differences, and it’s hard to be different.

One of the guys was bitching her out for being rough with a younger kid. She was trying to apologize, talk to the younger kid and trying to take responsibility, but this asshole wouldn’t stop badgering her. He was actually cussing at her. He’s a grown ass man, getting into the kid’s stuff, and bullying her.

I was disgusted and also a little convicted – should I do something, I wondered? I was bullied as a kid, even by some adults. Would I have wanted intervention? I didn’t end up doing anything, though I did get the Wee One out of there. I didn’t want her seeing such crap. I know I can’t spare her from it forever, but I’ll probably try.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you that the crochet project I am working on is not coming along like I had hoped. I am not able to crochet as often as I would like, with the Wee One. I’m afraid my friends won’t let me sell anything with them. Maybe I will just give The baby her own ball of yarn to play with-like a cat.

You giggle, and then you wince. Yeah, I’ve been there.

If we were having coffee, I would tell you how, on Saturday night, I was kind of hoping those guys, the bullies, would again throw a party so loud I could call the cops. Cohiba said “You’re in the ‘I wish a motherfucker would’ mode.”  

Oh yeah, and that  night, after we left dinner, I had black beans smeared by my ear-the Wee One is beginning to leave a trail behind her wherever she goes. I had trusted food on the front of my shirt, because she puts her open mouth on my chest. (Wanting to nurse) My kid is subtle.