I’m Smoother on Paper–From a book I wrote.


Glancing around, checking that no one is watching in this crowded coffee shop, I realize…no cares I am in this coffee shop. Voices echoed around me, dozens of  conversations floating in the air, indecipherable aside from the occasional word or two. The most exciting event currently was the condensation slowly rolling off my glass jar, filled to the brim with iced coffee, and onto the oak wood table leaving careless rings of water ,scarring the table, a reminder I was here.

Attention now on the contents of the jar rather than it’s mess, I reach, my cracked knuckles poking out of my worn, knitted sweater as I grasp my drink with my sore fingers. Winter liked to rake my hands without remorse, no amount of Aveeno could save them now. The glass was cold when it met my lips. Not a terrible cold that made you flinch, followed by a hollow shiver, but one that welcomed you to take a ginger sip. Bitter, cheap coffee, soothed by soy milk and ice caressed my dry mouth like an extraordinary lover. Perhaps an exaggeration. Perhaps not. It was simple, but familiar, drank by habit, something mundane and ordinary even when life was anything but.

I like ordinary and mundane things, habits, and activities. Perhaps that’s why I hesitated when I had to release my coffee back onto the table, letting it continue making new water rings as I had to turn my attention back to chaos.

It wasn’t the chaos that you first think of. No tangible havoc one could spot from afar, such as a rabid toddler or a couple on the obvious brink of divorce. It was reigned in, and neat. Disorganization with a smiling face, a few dreams, and about three thin, green, George Washington’s in its pocket.. Confusion that laughed, told terrible jokes, and could eat for two…possible three whole human beings.  A chaos that was undeniably loved, loathed by a few, ,and quite frankly and you probably guessed it…was me.

Not in a unique way, unfortunately. I’m your  average 20 year old in 2018. Broke, distressed, sexually frustrated, and riddled with mental health issues. What is unique is what causes most of it. I have had an eventful life to say the least. Which leads me back to now. Sitting in a crowded coffee shop, my loyal laptop in front of me, the keys taking a rough hit as my fingers fly across the keyboard.

I will tell you about today, tomorrow, perhaps ten years ago. What I think, what I know, what I think I know. Fantasies that happen in the mind but never in real life. Your typical diary, scribbles of a scrambled mind. The twist is it won’t always be my story, it will be stories of those I find of importance. That’s how life works. It is never just your story and your story alone. It’s your perception of everybody’s story you hear or are apart of. It’s the subplots that support your main story line. So instead of pretending this book is solely about me, I would like to highlight the supportive characters, because let’s be honest…if it were just me, all you would hear about it how enchanting my coffee is.

Hate to leave you hanging on a short first chapter, although, for you, you can just turn the page and keep reading. I however have to shut my loyal friend and go to sell my time for the next 7 hours for $3.49. You guessed it, I’m a waitress if I have ever served you…or if I ever do in the future, a formal apology:

“I am sincerely sorry that I am awkward and disoriented. I am smoother on paper than in real life. Aside from the obvious reason that on paper I am just black and white ink on a 9” by 12” paper and in real life I am about 30 pounds overweight, I am usually severely sleep deprived and overthinking everything I do due to some sweet crippling anxiety. But I will always get you your food in a timely matter and always have a smile on my face, so hopefully you can find it in your heart to still tip me at least 20%…because remember…I make $3.49 an hour.”

Hope you guys enjoyed! What would you like to hear about in my next blog?


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