is one with yellowed pages stacked to the ceiling on all the wall in a small and old home with the underlaying musks of coffee and smoothies.
The few times I’ve driven to New England, I’ve seen small college towns and think how wonderful it woul dbe to live there – a sort of Gilmore Girl atmosphere, if you will. And, always in the back of my mind is my ideally creative living structure: a small aparmtent on a Main Street above my very own bookstore. Remember the small bookstore in “You’ve Got Mail”? I want it.
Yet, I’ve never been in one of those old rustic shops before, only passing those wonderful tresure troves, or seen them on TV, until today. I was walking to my designated spot mentioned in my previous post and found heaven.
This small building is full of shelves of random books of all ages and varied levels of usage. The smell reminded me of Nauvoo – old and moist. But, that’s the smell of heaven. I walked around, my heart pounding, a smile spread on my face. Traveling through the labyrinth of bookshelves, I entered the second part of the store – a small cafe. This place is heaven and only a five minute bike ride from home.
I love it. I love it. I love it. I want it. I know I’ll be spending more time here, because I now have the smell of heaven in me.
Already this morning, I woke up later than usual, not allowing me to run or workout. I grabbed a too heavy jacket for today’s wonderful weather. Wearing flats, I stepped in a mud puddle. I have a ton of homework to do. I have to start the process for getting a passport. Joy.
I could have allowed these things to put me in a bad mood for the day. But, seconds after the muddy puddle incident, I stopped and went over to the grass. Calmly, I wiped my foot off and put the somewhat squishy shoe back on. I put a smile on face and continued to class. I will not allow myself to be upset at this misfortune.
Other issues have been presenting themselves all week. For that reason (also because I have to go to the post office anyway), I have decided that I will not do homework at my apartment today. It is such nice weather, I will stay on Center Street and do homework by the tabernacle. It is lovely downtown, and this weather is even more appealing. I will not allow myself to be in a poor temperament today.
The day is yet to be had. The day is yet to be experienced. What I will find today is peace. I will find relaxation. I will find satisfaction. Today I will not let anything or anyone take this calm, serene, disposition from me.
I am excited to sit on the common area in the center of downtown, in front of a historical building that means much to my heritage. I even believe my muse may visit me after all the homework is done. I intend to spend all day there until twilight forces me to find some other light. And I will not allow anything or anyone to take this calm, serene disposition from me.
“Writers live precarious lives, lives threatened by despair, frustrated hopes, lonely anxiety. They feel neglected, misunderstood, useless.”
– Wayne C. Booster
Really? Am I full of despair? No, I don’t think so. I live each day, probably with frustrated hope. Really? Is my hope frustrating? Isn’t anyone’s hope frustrating? Isn’t that why it is hope – because its not there, so you wish for it whether or not it may come true. That is frustrating, but not filled with despair.
Really? Do I feel lonely and full of anxiety? Do I feel neglected? I like to consider myself to have a couple of really close friends who are there for me no matter what. They don’t neglect me. I love them and they love me. (Maybe once in a while, I wish for peace and quiet alone, but I am never lonely.) Anxiety? Really? Who doesn’t have anxiety? I’m a college student! I thrive on anxiety! Hah! My roommate, an engineering major has anxiety!
Really? Misunderstood and useless? Well….no. Those who have a child in their hearts, who long to see my world of fantasy will welcome me with open arms and enjoy my writing. Those who don’t, and thrive on academic pursuits only, they will congratulate me. Useless? Never! I bring adventure and escape! I bring knowledge and opinion. Never will I feel useless in my talent to write.
Sorry, Mr. Wayne C. Booster. You are thinking of extreme cases, such as Emily Dickenson and Edgar Allen Poe. Were you depressed yourself? I’m sorry to hear that. But as for me, I believe writers are filled with hope and creativity, waiting to share it with their loved ones.