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Wednesday – Santa At Starbucks
Dec. 16th, 2009 09:47 am.
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I went to a local Starbucks to buy a cup of coffee and write in my journal, which I do at least once a week to stay sane. My journal is an old-school paper journal. Unlike what I write on the Internet, this journal is for private consumption only, though I rarely go back and read anything that I've written in it. I have these journals going back to when I was 10 years old, a whole box of them. There were a few years of my life during the last 30 years I didn't have one, but for most of them I do. They are what I do instead of seeing a psychiatrist. Lately, every entry has begun with the words, "Still unemployed."
I can't write in a journal at home, and I've never written in one while at a place of work; I must be in a so-called "third place" where I can be alone and neither people nor an obligation will pester me while I'm trying to think. Sometimes, though, another patron will sit too close and talk too loud while I'm trying to write, and I will record what I'm hearing into my journal since my own thoughts can't make in it in there because of the distraction they are causing. Yesterday the distraction was from no other than Santa Claus, himself, talking on his cell phone. He was not wearing a red suit when I saw him, mind you, but this guy was the real deal: he delivered toys to boys and girls for Christmas. In fact, he was calling up their mothers to find out how the names of their children and what they wanted for Christmas.
( Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus...Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus? )
.
.
I went to a local Starbucks to buy a cup of coffee and write in my journal, which I do at least once a week to stay sane. My journal is an old-school paper journal. Unlike what I write on the Internet, this journal is for private consumption only, though I rarely go back and read anything that I've written in it. I have these journals going back to when I was 10 years old, a whole box of them. There were a few years of my life during the last 30 years I didn't have one, but for most of them I do. They are what I do instead of seeing a psychiatrist. Lately, every entry has begun with the words, "Still unemployed."
I can't write in a journal at home, and I've never written in one while at a place of work; I must be in a so-called "third place" where I can be alone and neither people nor an obligation will pester me while I'm trying to think. Sometimes, though, another patron will sit too close and talk too loud while I'm trying to write, and I will record what I'm hearing into my journal since my own thoughts can't make in it in there because of the distraction they are causing. Yesterday the distraction was from no other than Santa Claus, himself, talking on his cell phone. He was not wearing a red suit when I saw him, mind you, but this guy was the real deal: he delivered toys to boys and girls for Christmas. In fact, he was calling up their mothers to find out how the names of their children and what they wanted for Christmas.
( Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus...Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus? )
