Saturday, June 01, 2013

When You Gotta Go...

I was determined to write today.

I have my very first meeting with the Heart of America Writer's Network this coming Monday, so I wanted to get some practice in.  I thought I'd go up to Starbucks to use the Wifi and enjoy a cuppa coffee at the same time.  Unfortunately, the only place I could sit and write was in front of a window.  Even with a shade, the glare on my screen was prohibitive.

Secondly, I tried the local library.  I got set up at the very back table, where I could both plug in my computer and enjoy the quiet.  However, five minutes after I got set up, a minister came in and sat a couple of tables away from me.  He brought a young teenager with him.  The minister then began to counsel and teach the teenager about sin and the use of the concordance and the books of the Bible, perhaps trying to get him ready for confirmation.  The teenager did not seem very enthused about the process.  Of course, I couldn't help but listen in, so I decided to move to a different location.

Long about that time, due largely to the amount of coffee I'd consumed today, it was time to take a bathroom break.  Only the bathrooms were being cleaned, so they couldn't be used.  I decided to wait for a while in the hope that I could take care of my business and then find a place to park that had no distractions.  I wandered the stacks and scoped out all the possible quiet corners to hide and write, then checked out the Ladies' Room availability again.

Still no dice.

I don't know about you, but I can't concentrate when I have to "go."  Thinking about it takes every cell in my limited brain.  Concentrating on or creating anything else is almost impossible.

I waited a while longer, thinking the cleaning guy had to be using a toothbrush to clean intricately around each and every fixture and tile in the loo.  I found a book on CD and started to transfer it to my computer so that I could then transfer it to my MP3 player later on and listen to it.  After the first CD was ripped I checked yet again.

Still no dice.

By this time the situation was nearing desperation.  I didn't want to stand outside the john and cross my legs while holding myself as I used to do when I was five.  Although, come to think of it, that might have given the janitor a clue that he was taking FAR TOO LONG.  People who are fifty-six-years-old do not do that sort of thing on a normal basis.

So I left.  I went home and took care of my business, got another cup of coffee, and tried to figure out a place to go where A) it was quiet B) the air conditioning was not set to FRIGID C) there was comfortable seating with no possibility of screen glare, and D) it wouldn't cost me any money.

I ended up back at the library with my coffee in a spill-proof container.

When I got here the bathrooms were operable again (thank the Good Lord), but the chair I wanted on the other side of the library from the minister and his charge was occupied.  I settled myself down at a table with an incredibly hard chair a decent distance from All The Loudness and began to write this epistle.

However, it seems that after the addition of more coffee and a little time, I am in the same predicament once more.

At least I know the place I need to visit next is excruciatingly clean!

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