Au lait!
So I'm sitting in the coffee shop, a place I go when I need to get some work done, or just need to be alone. This guy walks in, good looking, but I can just tell he'll be bald within five years. He sits at a nearby table anxiously, and finally his girl comes in dressed all in black. Nothing fancy, just pants and a t-shirt, and a black cap. A uniform of some sort. They greet each other with a hug. He's glancing over at me from time to time, and from her profile, I can tell that she looks a little bit like me.
I wonder what goes through a man's head at times like these. Hey, she looks like her, only she's a new version. Who maybe nags less. Or knows how to handle money better. Or isn't as emotionally dependent.
The barrista here is overly friendly. In 20 minutes, I have heard her tell the story at least half a dozen times of her colleague with his eyes swollen shut, who is, presumably, now on his way to see the doctor. She personally delivered coffee to the man now seated behind me, who a minute earlier was asking for a cloth to clean off his table. I wonder how many times a day she is asked out. I do not like her.
It's been awhile since my last entry. Let's just say I have work--enough to keep me busy. But my daughter asked me the other night on my way out the door to the coffee shop, "You're going to real work?" I wonder that myself sometimes. I miss "real work", which I take to mean, "work with other people." I hadn't realized how much social interaction feeds me until I had no more of it, or at least had it reduced to very small doses.
My resentment has subsided, at least. But I'm still living a farce. It's a good farce, by any measure. I have everything I need, provided I remain home-based (oh yes, with a career), and as much the domestic goddess as Giada de Laurentiis ever was. It's not a tall order most days. Still, it isn't the life I would've chosen for myself. And that is why I'll always have this underlying angst, this unabating restlessness about me.
It could be worse. Much worse, I'm told. Just ask all the envying women out there.
I wonder what goes through a man's head at times like these. Hey, she looks like her, only she's a new version. Who maybe nags less. Or knows how to handle money better. Or isn't as emotionally dependent.
The barrista here is overly friendly. In 20 minutes, I have heard her tell the story at least half a dozen times of her colleague with his eyes swollen shut, who is, presumably, now on his way to see the doctor. She personally delivered coffee to the man now seated behind me, who a minute earlier was asking for a cloth to clean off his table. I wonder how many times a day she is asked out. I do not like her.
It's been awhile since my last entry. Let's just say I have work--enough to keep me busy. But my daughter asked me the other night on my way out the door to the coffee shop, "You're going to real work?" I wonder that myself sometimes. I miss "real work", which I take to mean, "work with other people." I hadn't realized how much social interaction feeds me until I had no more of it, or at least had it reduced to very small doses.
My resentment has subsided, at least. But I'm still living a farce. It's a good farce, by any measure. I have everything I need, provided I remain home-based (oh yes, with a career), and as much the domestic goddess as Giada de Laurentiis ever was. It's not a tall order most days. Still, it isn't the life I would've chosen for myself. And that is why I'll always have this underlying angst, this unabating restlessness about me.
It could be worse. Much worse, I'm told. Just ask all the envying women out there.
posted by MJG at 3:29 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home