My birthday. I went to Market of Choice for coffee and to read Pico Iyer, Sun After Dark. Market of Choice is a good place to drink a cup of coffee in the morning. It is warm, first of all. You do not have to wear a coat when you drink a cup of coffee in Market of Choice. It’s clean and the chairs are comfortable. There is no loud startling music. It is not vegan. There are quiet out-of-the-way tables where you can sit alone and, when you look up, you see rows of produce or the sky. Grey today because it is November. It is November and all the cold, wet, sunless days are in front of us. It’s my birth month and probably will be the birth month of my grandson.
I had stopped writing much about personal things here. I’m trying to figure out the line between personal and private. I used to think there wasn’t one, but that is ridiculous.
Someone commented on my blog a while back that my writing was getting better, but that isn’t true. And anyway, it isn’t the point. Is it good? I don’t like to think of it like that.
A small quote from Pico Iyer: “as if we are sleepwalking through some diabolical plot that we can’t follow.”