“The brain is a wonderful organ. It starts the moment you get up and doesn’t stop until you get into the office.” ~ Robert Frost
I stole this quote from Copyblogger.
I'm a thief.
And I totally want a katana. (But my psychiatrist says not to trust me with sharp objects.)
And isn't this quote just true? You get up in the morning, the remnants of that amazing dream drifting around your little head, so you jump up to go try and draw out an idea from that dream, or try to write it out in a story that actually makes sense. You get in front of the paper (or computer screen) and proceed to dump out.....
All of those ideas have just flown away in terror at the sight of a blank page.
This ever happen to you?
It happens to me more often every day.
And then, later in the day, when you're taking the subway to Quincy Market (my favorite of the three places I've actually managed to see in Boston), or when you're taking notes at a lecture, or in the middle of a business meeting, that idea will make a miraculous recovery and clamour for your attention. Of course, you can do nothing, and it promptly disappears again.
Same story, and an annoyingly similiar series of books follow it.
On a completely random and equally confusing note (You will be getting these random memos a lot if you stick around, dears.) I have a sudden yearning to go to a coffee shop.
Not a syndicated giant like Starbucks either. A small, many-windowed cafe with cute little tables set both indoors and out, and a well-lit interior with a cozy atmosphere of lazy sophistication.
And then I want to sit with a sketchpad in hand, and draw the houses and people around me.
And what makes me want this so wholeheartedly, is the latest update of the blog Cafe Fashionista.
This woman's posts make me yearn for subtle sophistication and warm cafes with pretty women wearing Rory Beca Theresa V Necks and Fiona Platform Snap Booties and of course lots of handsome men!
I'd feel so out of place, yet so blissfully happy...
It'd be like heaven for the fashion-wannabes.
And now, my dears, I am waxing poetic, which means that it is time for my 4' 11" behind to get to bed.