I am American: I go to Starbucks every day. I don't feel bad about it due to the strictly European influence of such an activity-- the only thing "American" about it is the fact that I can choose to walk 20 feet and go to another Starbucks. My hour to two hours of quality time with my journal are key to my sanity here-- but lately my trips haven't been as solitary as I'd like.
There is a man who frequents this particularly large Starbucks almost as much as I do, at almost the same exact times as I do. He has short grey hair, think black spectacles, and a roaming eye-- not creepy on first glance, but maybe by the third. If, right now, a movie were to be made about my
Starbucks-going, he would be the narrator. I imagine my antics would be just wild from a different perspective. Men have replaced my journal-- nearly every day I wind up in a conversation with a different man, be it planned or a random approach or whatever. Roaming-Eye-Man always seems to be sitting near me, and always seems to be listening to the conversation. This means he heard the conversation with Genius/ADHD man about my massively screwed up childhood and family. He heard the conversation with boss man where I was painfully trying to make him believe that I adored him more than ever. He knows my age, my background, my financial assets. He knows my taste in men, for he's seen me initiate flirting with one or two fine young brooding chaps. He can even tell what kind of men have interest in me, I imagine. Men over 40 with well made shoes. Generally I will exchange knowing eye contact with this man at least once during every visit. We smile, but I can totally tell his eyes are saying exactly what my conscience is thinking. "Is this how you entertain yourself? Hours upon hours of teasing the shit out of men, merely by existing?" I have stopped inviting men to join me since this realization, but I cannot stop them from joining me. Oh! The styles of how men ask to sit with me. There was the one who ran over, sat his ass down, and started up a conversation like we'd already been in it. There was the classic and cliche pencil dropper, and then the eternal "Are you journaling?" No shit I'm journaling. Do you see this journal? I'm a journaler, I'm journaling. I am one who journals. I must go journal.
There is a man who frequents this particularly large Starbucks almost as much as I do, at almost the same exact times as I do. He has short grey hair, think black spectacles, and a roaming eye-- not creepy on first glance, but maybe by the third. If, right now, a movie were to be made about my
Starbucks-going, he would be the narrator. I imagine my antics would be just wild from a different perspective. Men have replaced my journal-- nearly every day I wind up in a conversation with a different man, be it planned or a random approach or whatever. Roaming-Eye-Man always seems to be sitting near me, and always seems to be listening to the conversation. This means he heard the conversation with Genius/ADHD man about my massively screwed up childhood and family. He heard the conversation with boss man where I was painfully trying to make him believe that I adored him more than ever. He knows my age, my background, my financial assets. He knows my taste in men, for he's seen me initiate flirting with one or two fine young brooding chaps. He can even tell what kind of men have interest in me, I imagine. Men over 40 with well made shoes. Generally I will exchange knowing eye contact with this man at least once during every visit. We smile, but I can totally tell his eyes are saying exactly what my conscience is thinking. "Is this how you entertain yourself? Hours upon hours of teasing the shit out of men, merely by existing?" I have stopped inviting men to join me since this realization, but I cannot stop them from joining me. Oh! The styles of how men ask to sit with me. There was the one who ran over, sat his ass down, and started up a conversation like we'd already been in it. There was the classic and cliche pencil dropper, and then the eternal "Are you journaling?" No shit I'm journaling. Do you see this journal? I'm a journaler, I'm journaling. I am one who journals. I must go journal.
