I’ve hit the proverbial wall with writing. Well, I actually hit it a while ago…but I’m finally now addressing the issue. There’s a scene in Run, Fat Boy, Run where Simon Pegg’s character hits the runner’s wall. And he literally, in his exhausted delusional state, sees a brick wall in front of him which he peers through the cracks and sees himself on the other side urging him to break through. That’s how I feel. There’s a brick wall in front of me and on the other side I can see myself sitting with my laptop urging my other self to hurry up and start writing quality stuff again.

I used to spend much more of my days writing. And not just little descriptions of what I did that day, but short stories based on what had happened to me. I miss those…I feel like I had really hit my stride with that type of story telling.  And I want to make an effort to find that again.

It’s tough though…when I first moved to New York, I was very lonely. I had no concept of how little people actually saw each other…unless you worked together or lived within the same few block radius. Friends whom I had hung out with every day in college, I ended up only seeing once a month. If I was lucky. No one at work was my age, I didn’t like my roommates (at the time…not you, Lindsey!) and most of my friends lived either in Harlem or in Brooklyn. A lot of times I would go sit in Union Square and watch people. Watch everyone else with friends. Yes, I know…a bit self-deprecating, but aren’t we all at sometimes?

And then I discovered New York coffee shops. You weren’t expected to meet any friends there. No one cared if you were drinking alone or if you were meeting with a whole table full of people…they only cared if you sat at that table for too long taking up precious space.  And this is where I started writing. I had always been drawn to coffee shops, but here in my loneliest moments is when I used it to take myself back to times when I wasn’t lonely–whether that was earlier that same week or years earlier in college.

And now that I have many more friends and a very busy freelance job and a boyfriend/roommate whom I see and hang out with constantly and two dogs to care for…I guess that empty space that used to be there (that empty space which had to be filled with writing) no longer exists. And I think my art has suffered for it. I need to find a way to regain the need and the passion to write without sacrificing my happiness. Has anyone else hit these sort of walls? I mean, I’m sure we all have…but I’m curious if anyone has any suggestions.

Roots Cafe is my favorite place to go in our new neighborhood. The coffee is good (super dark…takes way more half & half than usual to get it to my ideal caramel color), but the sandwiches are what makes this place special. They have this turkey and goat cheese panini that is AMAZING. It’s so good…I’ll have to take a photo of it for Ello next time I’m there, since I was lectured about talking about food with no photo before.

That being said, the other reason I love it so much here is because of the vintage eclectic feel to its design. It has a ton of artwork (some really bad artwork admittedly) and antiques. It’s the perfect place to write on a cold, snowy day.

Right, ok. So, you caught me…this is totally not Luna. But I thought that maybe you all were a bit tired of her crazy mug. So, I thought I’d introduce you to Pascha. Pascha is the sweetest and coolest cat I’ve ever known. She is cuddly and acts more like a dog than some of those tiny breeds Manhattan women carry around in their purses all day.

She belonged to my old boss at the magazine and when I was in the office writing, she would try to lay down across my laptop in an attempt to garner some attention. And I’d have to weigh it out…”Hmm, get work done or play with the kitty….get WORK done or play with the adorable kitty? Get work done and get my paycheck sooner or have fun, cuddle time with this cutie who I am deathly allergic to?”

Believe it or not, the cat who I am deathly allergic to won every time. God, I’m a sucker.