Here to write.

Here to ramble.

Here to just get out of the house and get some alone time.

I’m just here ’cause there’s no other place I got to be, so I’m just taking my time and just doing what I do best, waste time.

I don’t know if there will be much for me to talk about or say today.

I’ve said quite a bit for the past couple of days. I’ve said quite a bit.

But here goes. Let’s hope for the best, shall we?

* * *

Life.

Is there a glimmer ahead?

That’s what it feels like. That’s what it seems.

That I can see some sort of hope for me. There is help, but there is direction and apparently, there is change.

I’m aware. I’m am cognizant about my actions. I’m full conscious about the things that I am lacking as a person and that I need to work on.

I am fully aware.

Maybe there will be hope.

Maybe there will be something that I look into the mirror and be proud of.

The man that I know that I can be.

It’s a work in progress. It’s a daily battle to be a better person.

It seems sometimes, with all of the shit that goes on here in this little private void of mine, that I should consider renaming this Work in Progress.

It’s hard work man. Hard work.

* * *

Rachel sits at the other end of the coffee shop. Her face and her focus on the laptop screen in front of her.

I wonder what she is looking at. Is about the assignment that is due in the coming New Year? Is it the letter that she’s writing to her boyfriend that is overseas?

I wonder.

The crackling fire in the fake fireplace rumbles on, taking in the oxygen in the room, growing stronger and steady with each breath. It blares the heat out onto us, but for some strange reason, there’s a bone tingling chill in the air.

The distance between us is icy with no hope of warming up.

We both sit in our respective places, both aware of each other, but I can tell that we both are interested in what the other is doing.

I’ll catch her stealing looks my way and she’ll see me glancing her way, trying to figure out what she’s doing.

Currently, we are both playing it cool. I’m focused on this little story, and she on her letter to her soon-to-be Ex-Boyfriend overseas,

The coffee swirler stands between us, perfecting her coffee. One, two, three little packets of sugar. Swirl, sip. A dash of cinnamon, swirl, sip. Perfect.

She gave us a reprieve on this cold shoulder unacknowledgment between the two of us.

We are alone again,

The only sounds are the tapping of my keys and the fan of the heating system and the faint voices from the News that is on the TV.

It’s over. The battle is lost as we are both formidable people of not acting.

Well, maybe she’s playing the old fashion game waiting for the man, me, to make the move as she waits on pins and needles hoping and hoping. It’s all up to me.

She wants me to be the reason that her soon-to-be Ex is an Ex and not a still.

Will I act? Will I do it?

Probably not.

Why?

As I said before in maybe an earlier post, hopefully in an earlier post, maybe in an earlier post, but definitely to my shrink, I think it is rude to interrupt someone who is clearly occupied working at a coffee shop.

Rude.

I’m not rude.

I don’t want to be rude.

I want to play nice today.

I don’t want to be a hypocrite.

There.

Is that answer enough?

Fine.

Moving on.

As I sit here looking up Faye Wong’s Fragile Woman, I wonder if Rachel is one.

She seems strong, bold as she sits there alone, enjoying her little muffin or her pastry, writing her little break up letter to her overseas gentleman caller.

But would that be evidence of a strong woman? Wouldn’t she be stronger if she actually called him instead to break up with him or wait until he comes back?

Maybe he has some scruples and think that she can’t wait, ’cause he’s there for another year and she can’t do it now. She has to end it and so, the email is the best.

Maybe it’s not an email per se, but like a written script or a speech on what she needs to say. That would be indicative of a strong woman.

I like that version better.

Rachel, the strong woman. Waiting to break up with her boyfriend.

He’s been gone too long. She hasn’t heard anything from him in a while. It’s not like he’s off at war or something, no, he’s off in a business trip in Tokyo.

It’s been four months and he hasn’t heard from him yet. Not one iota. Her emails go unanswered. Calls were picked up and rushed. Texts are just one word exchanges.

Something is amiss and she can’t do this anymore.

It is time and she finally found the reason.

Me.

I am the reason for her breakup. I am the straw that broke the relationships back. Me.

I’m being used.

I don’t know how I feel about that.

She’s on the phone. Maybe it is time that she called, after she sees that I’m stealing glances at her. She’s about to make her move, so she’s calling so she doesn’t have this guilt resting on her chest

Rachel is doing the break up now and it seems she’s handling it well.

She’s a strong woman.

But the convo seems to be lasting a lot longer than it should. Your smiles betray your intentions. Is he worming his way back into your heart?

Are you getting that he’s busy and he’s finally got a chance to breathe because you are forcing it on him?

What is it Rachel? What are you going to do?

And then, I see the ring.

I tap out. I can’t be the reason to break up a marriage. I have to remove myself from the equation.

I need to go.