Blessing and a Curse

I'm at Starbucks again, naturally.

The Starbucks is a bit of a blessing and a curse, actually. It can be a pleasant and wonderful place to sit and write. It's a cool oasis in the city, which of late has felt like a bit of a swamp. The air lately has been painfully "close," like a wet blanket. And I'm becoming weary of waking up in the middle of the night drenched in my own sweat, like some sort of doomed patient suffering the night sweats.

Thankfully, the Starbucks offers a little bit of refrigerated bliss.

Unfortunately, it's also a bit of refrigerated bliss for a lot of people who just drive me bugshit. When did people forget how to act in public? The loudness. The inconsideration. The rudeness. It inspires and provokes me to be every bit as bad as I think these people are - 'cuz I want desperately to shout at them and as big an asshole as everyone around me.

Listen, I'm temped. There's this lady who's sitting with her knitting circle across the store from me who's yammering on about this and that, and all I wanna do is shout - three inches from her face - "Inside voice, fer chrissakes! Inside voice!!!"

Clearly, you're not here for the "Diarist as Saint" narratives.