So in order to meet deadline, I have discovered a way to work around my essential inertia (read: laziness). I’ve been going to work with
and writing in–gasp! the Starbucks next door. He works far enough away that I can’t easily just go home. I have to trick myself into working sometimes, see. My entire personality is a workaround. Superego curb-thumping id with a large nailbat.
Of course, I f-ing hate Starbucks, and am trying a local lakeside cafe today. I tied Caribou Coffee yesterday, but A. their coffee makes me gag, and B. their chair to table height ratio aggravates my wounded arm/possibly carpal tunnel’d arm to no end, so that it’s so stiff I can barely type. Starbucks won yesterday for having no free internet and comfy chairs with outlets nearby. Having once worked for Starbucks, though, I would rather not be a regular there, so am looking for new places.
I know Scalzi says that cafes are for assholes, but they don’t have wireless access, therefore I don’t waste time on the net, therefore I write thousands upon thousands of words, because my internal “I don’t need to write today” girl has no other avenues for entertainment.
This is working very well. Kind of insanely well. I get dressed and put on lipstick and go to work in the morning. Anchorite of the Church of Caffeine and Sugar. This could become a thing. Too bad I am far too broke to make like
once did and rent a studio. Cafes it is for now. Am I not an asshole if I’m there to work and not get laid? The headphones are pretty off-putting, and I managed to ignore pretty much everyone yesterday.
How I wish for a local, independent cafe, for a Mailbag Cafe as in Medea: The Sorceress!
Ah, well. If wishes were fishes. I for one welcome our not-so-new corporate conglomerate overlords.
Time to go to work.