Coffee break/ Reality Check

(see, I even have time to do things like I used to do, ie.... take photos of myself in a public bathroom)


I never would have thought that this would be my saving grace, my little escape from everyday, and especially “school” days, but it is. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I wake up at 5 am, hit snooze, hit snooze, hit snooze yet again, and then kiss GiGi before really waking up and getting ready for school. Im nearing the end of my second semester, and as with most things I get involved with, I am bored. Don’t get me wrong, there is a certain stick-to-itiveness present that I simply did not have in my late teens when I gave school the ol’ college try (get it? College? College-try? *snort*), but still yet, I’m done with this semester. In my head, I am over these four months, a month early.


In between my first class, which goes from 6:30-7:45am, and my second class which begins at 9:30 am, I have a gazillion minutes to entertain myself. In the past, I would suffer through the terrible coffee at City College and eagerly await the fascinating classes in store for me throughout the day. Now…I am on to this whole “coffee house” luxury kick that helps saves my sanity with an increasing attention problem during school. For $4 I can have a cup-o-joe, a refill, and a reduced fat berry coffee cake thingamajigy. There is so much more to this whole coffee break siesta that I hadn’t realized until this morning. Aside from the general overheard chatter and distractions that fascinate me, I get a break from school, thinking about all of the crazy issues that may be going on, and my family.


Sounds pretty mean right? Forgetting about problems is normal but forgetting about family? That’s fucked up. But! (there is a but) it is in this disconnection, this freedom to play word games, or write blogs or even pick up a magazine and thumb through it, that I am able to appreciate my life even more. When I am at home, there is a huge sense of obligation, and whether or not I actually get to edit photos and play games with the babe, still doesn’t allow for a total escape from the pressure that goes into just….living. Does that make sense?


When I am at home, I am a mother who just so happens to be single. I am a mother who goes to school and takes on way to many classes to be a straight-A student, and who worries constantly about grabbing a grade lower than that initial letter of the alphabet. My bed sees my body but never gets to have me resting, no matter what it may seem like from the outside. There is a three year old there who love me and I her, but requires an amount of attention Im uncertain of. The balance of pushy vs organic perplexes me almost daily and I struggle to have the continued confidence that I am being the best parent I can be. My roommates are my parents and as I approach thirty, I feel somewhat loserific at times, even though deep down, it hurts that I need them so much right now. Being in that home transports me back to the times when I was lost, and sad, and waiting for a big new world out there to make me smile. Im not sad, or lost, but I miss that big ol’ world when I scratch my forehead and hatch-mark my way to a more fitting life. My old life, with a new person in tow.


With a cup of coffee, and a berry thingamajig, I am nothing but a patron and observer of conversations and lives I am a part of for 10 minutes at a time.
It frees me, allows me to play, read, say, and do what I want to. For an hour and a half, I am just a patron. Nothing more/nothing less, that is, unless I want it to be.


Today, as I sat with my phone in my hands, deleting photos to make room for new applications, I noticed that I was having a hard time deleting images of my kid. My gorgeous child and her face were all over my phone, and for some reason, I couldn’t seem to shake her photos. I’ve downloaded them to my computer and even uploaded some to the web, but I couldn’t manage to take them off of my phone because I started to miss her. Sitting in a Starbucks, engorged with freedom and absence strings to a busy life for an hour, I began to miss my daughter so much it almost hurt my teensy, rapid beating heart.


What the f—


What was I downloading? Sponge bob tic-tac-toe games for Chloe to play with, and alphabet recognition apps for GiGi. I suppose I am never really free from who I am, but at least for a short bit of time, twice a week, I get to have my own time, free from judgmental looks, or pressure filled sentences. Calls from the next room that rock “Mommy!” and “Mama” with high pitches and infectious giggles can overwhelm at times, but leave a sweet tasting memory inside a little box I get to open when I am away from GiGi and the every-days, of being her mom.