For the first time in a very long time, I spent the afternoon at the Café. I brought a couple of books with me and read as the sun streamed in through the window, catching the curls of smoke that hung defiantly in the air.
One of the things I love about the Café is that it is, by day, the neighbourhood’s study area. Today, every one of the tables was strewn with notepads, books, and laptops, a scholarly clutter that gave the place the aura of a library, albeit one in which patrons have recourse to a respectably stocked bar.
I’ve hardly gone out at all during the last two months, other than to work, and I have missed the Café terribly. I am also becoming steadily more aware that in a few months time, it will be irrevocably changed. As I sipped my café au lait, I briefly considered forming a smokers’ militia, which would be led by bespectacled Mile End boys with laptops.
Speaking of smokers, I am missing James as well, who remains ensconced in his dissertation-writing bunker. Probably more than anyone else, I understand his need to cloister himself, to shut out the world and commit every fibre of his being to the task at hand. It doesn’t stop me from missing him, though, or from wishing that he could come out to play.
Arit, by contrast, came over to do laundry last night and we talked for hours, forgetting even to watch the DVDs she brought. Arit and I have seen very little of each other since the new year, so it was a rare treat to spend a whole evening with her, even if it did keep me up past my bedtime.
At various points in our conversation, I told her about the emails my brother sent me this week, and the gambling problem my father is fast developing. I also described a dream I had to her, which we agreed meant one of two things: (a) that I am, possibly, ready to love someone again; or, (b) that I am not. Clearly, further research is required.
There are a thousand things I have to do tomorrow, and every day thereafter. (Sighs.) Onward, Vila...