This is me, writing a postcard to my sister when I was in Spain over 10 years ago.    Writing may not LOOK so romantic these days, unless you’re like me and think that one of the best things in the world is sitting in a coffee shop for hours, working hard because what else would you do in a coffee shop?, and then coming home with the aroma of coffee clinging to every inch of the fibers that make your clothes.  It sounds like I’m having an affair with a coffee shop.  (Ew, what?) 

        It also may not LOOK that romantic if you saw my screen because I’m not sitting here writing poetry a book of fiction, but I’m coding qualitative research and making notes.  Working the data is hard and soon I’ll need more concrete categories that fit together like my son’s 3 piece Elmo puzzle.  I need THREE, three, 3, good categories that make a good thesis/project/whatever it’s called that could one day be published in a journal and that I could present verbally to people in my field.  But why?  What happens next?  Especially since I’m not planning on going Doctoral.  WHO KNOWS, I say, and WHO CARES.

I’m just happy that I have the chance to sit in a coffee shop alone for 2 to 4 hours at a time, with my computer, a chai latte, and a whole lot of stuff to do.  This is my coffee shop romance.

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