I can almost fool myself that I'm sitting in a cafe in London today.

After a months-long drought, the sky opened up around midnight last night, and it's still raining. It's gray (or would that be grey?) and cold outside, and I'm sitting at a corner table by a window at Barnes & Noble. The people who hurry past the window outside are hunched against the cold, wearing raincoats and scarves, and carrying umbrellas that they, like me, probably had to dig out from under a bunch of items in their trunk. We haven't needed umbrellas here in so long, it's easy to lose track of them.

The only thing that makes it difficult to convince myself that I'm in London is the existence of several bedraggled, soggy palm trees in the bookstore parking lot. They look forlorn and chilly. And oddly absurd against the gray background of clouds fat with raindrops.

Being here makes me think back to what the cafes must have been like in another century. You know, the cafes where all the great writers and thinkers would gather, smoking and arguing heatedly. I wish I had a group to do that with. It would be so nice to sit around with other thinkers, solving the world's problems in our own minds. It would be impossible not to write something really excellent after a day like that.

My goal is to write more. And also draw more. And paint more. Basically, I feel like the creative side of me is stifled, and needs to get out. I think I'll be a happier, more well-adjusted person for it. I think that might be a big part of what's missing in my life right now.
- posted by Perpetually Romesick @ 3:04 PM