Month: January 2023

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Cheers to coffee shops & winter songs

I’m currently sitting in a coffee shop, drinking my two hours-old coffee, just finished binge-eating a chocolate coffee piece of cake, and getting ready to leave in 30 minutes to see my friends.

It’s raining outside, and I’m listening to Coffee Breath by Sofia Mills and looking at the people around me. My problem is that I do not see without my glasses, so I probably looked too much at a few people, which made them feel uncomfortable, but that’s fine. I have the flu and sneezing like crazy with a runny nose, so I’m feeling a bit uncomfortable myself.

I’m also laughing because I promised myself to write achievements and resolutions, and I’m not going to today, so lol, there’s a chance I will not commit to that either. It’ll just haunt my guts forever or until I write them down. Cava.

Crazy by Pasty Cline just came on shuffle. It’s the perfect song for a rainy and cold night, especially without you. It makes me feel like we’re dancing somewhere in a wooden cottage, like the ones we see in dark movies, in some forest, in some foreign country, totally isolated from all sorts of human-y things, just you and me, dancing with only the light of a chimney. Maybe a white carpet under our feet, feeling a bit hazy, my head on your shoulder, and hearing trees rustling with the heavy wind and rain. But we’re dancing, so it’s okay. We do not care about the chaos outside. We’re dancing the chaos away.

“Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you”

Crazy – Patsy Cline

I am currently stuck somewhere in the 60s, in the fuzziness of it all, somewhere between Beatlemania and Woodstock, protesting war and hunger and injustice and children abuse and gender inequality. I was free, so unapologetically free.

See, I always felt like I never belonged to this crazy generation. I always felt like I was somehow born in the 50s, living my teen years somewhere in London, and then living the civil war in Lebanon until the 80s, reporting as a war journalist. I somehow died during the war, either by reporting melancholy news or by fighting for justice. I have it all scripted, written out in my mind, of how I actually was and what I used to do. I truly believe in this, physically, mentally, and everything.

I really lived through that, and not through whatever inaneness I live now. I can feel it in my bones, or maybe I have wanted it so much for so many years that I now believe in it. Whichever is, I belong then, humming the Patsy song, taking a break from the revolution in a wooden cottage in a forest somewhere, with you.

I need to leave in eight minutes. Leaving you with the thought.

Hope you have a noncrazy evening.

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Maybe things are changing and maybe it’s sad

I said maybe and not definitely, so do not get question-y and all ‘what are you doing with you life’ attitude on me. I know that, and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life either, but I do know that I am doing a few things right.

I have a lot to tell you about. A lot of new safeties, new boundaries, and new structures. I need to tell you about him, but only a little. I need to tell you at least how it feels to feel alive and loved.

Frankly, the more I have things to tell, the less I write. And I often say that it is because I don’t have time, but I know that’s not true. Maybe my 9 to 5 schedule is full of work, and maybe I am going out after work, but not every day. I know that.

I do have some free time, but I find myself watching Netflix instead of writing or reading, or doing something useful.

And it makes me feel like shit. But my therapist did tell me why I find myself too unbothered to write or read, even though both are my favorite things. It is because I often spend most of my time working, leaving me with 3 free hours a day, so my body refuses to do anything productive during these 3 hours and rather procrastinate than make an extra effort to do anything. Which sucks.

I wonder when I will be rich enough to take a gap year from everything. I will rent a house in a rural town abroad, and I will read and write and walk all day. Maybe I will visit the neighbors a few times, maybe I will invite them over to dinner, but I will spend my time reading and writing and thinking of nothing but the euphoric silence and loudness that linger around me.

I often find myself suffocating from the most bizarre things, things that usually do not overwhelm anyone but overwhelm me. I can sometimes be impatient and obsess over the most mundane of things. My confidence is so quickly shared by my insecurities that most days, it only takes one email correcting something I made or a word that a friend has called me to make me think and overthink the reasons I was born.

But, but! I am improving. Maybe the improvements are minor, and maybe I need to work harder, but I am proud of myself for the tiny achievements, and I am happy to announce that I will write down a few things I achieved last year and a few resolutions for this year.

I will move now to my other post, which you probably have seen before this one.

🙂