After two weeks of writing on lined paper this seems somewhat nice. Except for the fact that the past few entries here were written in a slightly psychotic frame of mind. Not unlike now.
Other than that I could feel peaceful. It is five past five and I'm trying to ignore the anxiety growing in my heart over the loss of time. This afternoon it was blazing hot but now the sky has dimmed considerably, as if the sun had outshone its own capacity for the day. Such a clear reminder that the day is waning and there is so much I have left undone. And my time alone here will soon be up.
The library cafe is peaceful at this hour. There are only a few people and I hear snippets of conversation in low voices above the comforting whir of the espresso machine. I'm seated-cross legged on the wide acrylic chair, my cappuccino has gone cold in the paper cup. Of late I have taken to drinking my coffee without sugar. There is a certain delightful bitterness to it.
The banana crêpe I made this afternoon is wrapped in foil inside a crumpled paper bag. It used to be warm and toasty, now it has been reduced to a sorry mush of mess. It makes me sad to see perfection gone to waste. And now the anxiety grows in my heart once more.
Truth is, I'm barely hungry. The barista told me I can't eat "outside" food and I'm glad. I have Auburn's Proof with me. Great play. I am almost enjoying this slow analysis, pouring over single words and their insignificant meanings.
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