Thursday, January 27, 2011
I found a corner seat, a fake leather couch, propped next to a window offering a view to the hospital. A few yards away, another woman sat curled onto a similar couch, her laptop beside her. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was writing or editing her latest project as I was.
I tend to spin whole scenarios in my head when I’m out in public, given the opportunity to watch people like I was yesterday at my local library.
I imagined getting out of my seat and closing the distance between us, dropping into the chair opposite her and asking if she was a writer too. You know, sharing our stories and comparing our journeys.
Then I told myself how stupid I would feel if she wasn’t a fellow writer.
I flipped through more of my pages and looked back up. Yeah, she was a writer for sure. She kept looking around the room and daydreaming like I was. What else could she be?
When an older gentleman chose the chair next to me to read his magazine, it was all I could do not to start chatting. But I was in a library where I'm supposed to be quiet, not start up conversations with everyone nearby.
I forced my eyes back to my work. Then my phone vibrated. Three times.
My hand wavered.
Okay. So I’m needy.
I packed up my markers and manuscript and made for the exit door.
Since you aren’t in the same room with me, talk to me: How much time do you spend in your head or using your mouth?