Working in a coffee shop can be a slow life–at least where I work. For every rushed moment of teenagers wanting milkshakes upon milkshakes, there are moments more where there is little to nothing happening at all, where the slow trickle of daytime patrons and study drunk students is the entire afternoon and the moments in between are left up to the person working to figure out what to do with.
Most of the time I write, I read, I draw, I do something so as to be, in some way, productive. But every 20 shifts or so there comes a day where nothing quite clicks. The shift is slow and if it were set upon your heart to read a book, to write a book, to solve cancer, you could, but nothing begins quite right–nothing gets going, and five hours pass and there’s nothing to show for it except for some lonely face drawn poorly in a sketch book beside a balloon and flying hippopotamus.
That’s today. It’d be nice if I were able to say that this post kickstarted the rest of my afternoon, that my writing this greased the wheels for something great to get going–but I’d be lying. Productivity is elusive. It’s often times when you are most tired, most inconvenienced and least interested in actually doing something that the inspiration strikes, but it’s in times like this, where it’s been an hour since anyone’s come in and there’re $7 sitting in my tip jar, that I wish productivity would hurry up already and just get going.