It was raining when I left work today. I was wearing a short sleeved shirt, and no socks with my shoes, and I hadn't brought a jacket. I had parked a little further away than usual this morning because it was warm when I had walked in, and the idea of taking a little longer to get inside was not going to be a bad decision. I thought I didn't care about a little weather.
So when I started my engine, and cranked up the heat to warm my feet and dry my hands, I wondered if I could get away with driving down the coast a bit, and finding a warm latte before it got dark. Like all good spontaneous adventures I have ever had, I had no idea what I would find, or where, or if I would regret it or celebrate it when I was done. Would there be a café open? Would they have run out of decaf, but instead offer me a house special that was more chai and spice than what I had pictured? Would there be musicians just picking up guitars over there in the corner, stashing cases and coats before putting on their stage hats and heading to adjust the mic? Would there be other tables with just one person at them, newspaper folded in front of them, and a pen attached to a journal with a large rubberband, peeking from the top of a slumped messenger bag? Would I talk to them about writing and getting published for over an hour and never ask their name?
All those were possibilities, because they had already happened once upon a time. Them, and dozens more. And I had been open to the magic before, so it found me. I could almost feel the latte foam on my tongue. The craving, the desire, was real. I could taste it.
But then something else happened. I heard the voice in my head ask me what I was trying to get away with and from whom? You would have no one to tell this story to, Elise, so why are you going? Rain, well, rain was just going to make the roads slippery, not more romantic, and you could get in a car accident. And traffic. It is just a regular old Thursday. No magic here. And the rain without a coat suddenly seemed just wet, and cold, and ridiculously lonely. As immediate as the desire was, the reality was really different in my head. I couldn't shake it. Blocked.
And I didn't go.
I am kicking myself now, as I write this, having just watched the last of the light slip away too early, and for already having put on slippers. I am trying to figure out what my brain did. Was that fear? Was that anxiety? Was it plain old fucked up depression? Had I hit this wall? Again? Fuck. I wanted a latte. I settled for a glass of milk. It is not enough. This space I am in is not enough, and I am fighting leaving it anyway. Sigh. Apparently today I could not get away with it, whatever that means. And I don't want to fake it. I do actually care, just not enough today to move in the right direction, as baby steps as a latte could have been. As easy as a drive could have been.
I will call and start looking for a counselor tomorrow, because I don't want this. And I will write, I know that, because I have to again, and that sucks. I want the magic voice back. The one that I started with right after work. I want to listen. I want to trust. This time feels rougher, but not as deep. It will pass, I know. Wait five minutes the weather will change. The road will be free of traffic. My latte will be waiting
But, fuck, I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow.
