Somewhere, life detoured down the rabbit hole. I have reached the point of insanity where seeking tranquility in a gallon latte and black bottom cupcake seems reasonable. The smell of the coffee covers the disturbing odor of sick livestock that clings to my boots. The caffeine jittering through my veins addles my brain into the delusion that I can write. The chocolate euphoria pushes aside the guilt over the facts that I have no appointments today and therefore no money, and that my writing has thus far only succeeded in depriving my family of my company and my head of several brain cells. Besides the warm blanket effect, the heat of the mug soothes the ache in my knuckles that is not, can’t possibly be, arthritis.
I’m pondering moving into Peet’s. I like the coffee; the chairs are reasonably comfortable; I can plug in my laptop, and no one asks “what are you doing, Mommy? Why are you writing?” Plus, it’s clean and has music that makes me feel smarter just by listening.
On the con side of the list, I risk running into clients. I hate seeing clients in public. I have a strange mental disorder that makes it impossible for me to recognize people out of context. I’m pretty sure I could crash into my husband in an unexpected location and not recognize him. Most clients don’t understand this, nor do they grasp the fact that their horse is one of hundreds of patients. Additionally, very few people understand that I don’t really enjoy discussing veterinary medicine in my free time. (Except in a ranting, anecdotal sort of way.) Then, there’s the whole middle of the day thing. It’s not great advertising for a working veterinarian to be seen sitting at a laptop, swilling coffee in the middle of the day. That scene pretty much answers the question everyone asks these days. “So…are you guys keeping busy?” I have learned to interpret this question and the accompanying worried look as, “we’re cutting back on everything, so we haven’t called you in a while, but we’re really hoping you’ll still be in business when we need you.” Me too.
In the meantime, I’m going to continue sipping my latte, writing to save my sanity, and hoping that Peet’s doesn’t start charging me rent.