Ella Eats a Face at Starbucks

Amid today’s chaos I managed to find this adorable smiley face in a very berry loaf at Starbucks. Naturally, I bought it. Like most of the baked goods from Starbucks, it looked better than it tasted. However, how many of you can say that you ate a face made out of berries today?

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Cleaning Grey Matter Out of a Keyboard Is Not a Fun Task

Somedays, the writing comes easily. Other days, I feel like slamming my head repeatedly into the table while groaning dramatically.

Today fell on the latter side of the spectrum. But because I was a Starbucks, and not at my house, melodramatics weren’t exactly an option. I had also used Freedom to turn off my internet for the next three and a half hours, so I couldn’t even escape to the world of never ending news articles. I thought my head was going to explode.

It didn’t.

But I still spent a very large amount of time imagining what would happen if it actually did. Unfortunately, because I did not have the internet, I couldn’t come up with something very accurate. (How on earth would my skull shatter from the pressure of an exploding brain?) So I just thought about how the person next to me would look with bits of gray matter dripping down onto their glasses and keyboard. They were not going to be very pleased. No one likes organs on their face, and getting blood and tissue out of a keyboard is probably near impossible. And then I was going to scar the  little kids sitting at the counter for life.

After five minutes of this, I got back to work and chipped away at writing a review and working on a scene. It was not fun, but there were words written and about seventy percent of it was at east mediocre.

And as always, you can also find me on tumblr at http://emleng93.tumblr.com/, if, you know, you’re into that kind of thing.

People Watching at Starbucks and Ella’s Failing Memory

I’ve taken to spending between four and six hours a day in Starbucks, writing. And I must admit that I spend about two percent of my time people watching.

Today’s highlight was a woman who was walking around on crutches with her ankle in a brace, but was still wearing stiletto heels. I’m no podiatrist, but it didn’t look like a good idea.

The runner up was a woman who started screaming at the baristas for no apparent reason, completely freaking them out and all of the other people in the store. Considering that the clientele is pretty much entirely people with laptops, women wearing designer sunglasses on top of their head and stylish outfits (who always place very complicated orders, sometimes specifying the exact ratio of soy milk to whole milk they want used), it was startling.

In other news, this blog post was supposed to be about how I cut my foot open while biking, and I had this great analogy and joke to go with it, but then I had to go take a shower and sort the laundry, and now I can’t remember any of it.

Also, biking while carrying a mega bottle of determent in your left hand is very difficult and inadvisable. And I totally didn’t learn this from experience or anything.

And as always, you can also find me on tumblr at http://emleng93.tumblr.com/, if you’re into that kind of thing.

On Homework, Coffee Shops, and Putting a Girdle Round About the Earth in Forty Minutes

So once again I find myself at Starbucks doing homework. And once again, this method is mostly working.

I was writing my journal entry on A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which I adore; I’ve got my pencil in my hand, and it’s the nice  mechanical type, with lead so thin it never wares down to a dull, flat edge; I’m writing; and it’s just easy. There’s the pencil, the wide-ruled notebook paper, the neatly organized binder, and me. Of course, Cecelia is on the other side of the table, typing away as she works on her French Lit assignment to design a Facebook profile for one of the characters in a Molière play. But I felt undeniably alone–not lonely, just happily alone–and calm in the crowded, loud, coffee-aroma-filled Starbucks. I had all the answers and they were just flowing down my arm into my hand and marching across the paper as my pencil moved, creating words in my neat handwriting, as the bottoms of the letters slurred together because I couldn’t be bothered to fully pick up the pencil in between letters.

Of course this perfection didn’t last forever, it never does, but I live for moments like those. Because there are only so many of them, and they are rare for me. Suddenly, I had the reigns for once, and the horses were walking at a nice, dignified pace. But the horses soon spooked, and I freaked out. Partially, this was the result at looking at the grades I got on the multiple-choice parts of my midterms and the stress of trying to write an essay with the added nerves of medication changes, vast loads of make-up work, and my post-graduate application sitting in an admissions office.

But I calmed down again after emailing Cecelia (who, yes, was just sitting across from me, but I didn’t want other people to hear us talking about it) and got back down to business. I didn’t feel the same way that I did when I was writing about A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but I did getting things done without tears or hyperventilating. So, you know, I think that, all in all, it was a job well done.

(Oh my goodness, commas. When will I figure them out?)