I don't think I've made an actual post in awhile now.  I think Blogger sapped my creative energies where blogging is concerned.  (Have I mentioned lately how much I hate the word "blog?"  No?  Okay, consider it mentioned.)

Those creative energies have since been renewed.  I'm on a bit of a funky schedule as of late, sleeping mostly during the day and awake mostly at night.  I can't help it, my body is just built that way.  Or maybe it's just my mind that's built that way.  I feel energized at night.  Or at least not drained like I do during the day.  It really doesn't matter how much sleep I get or don't get, I'm energized at night, and drained during the day.  It's part of why I like working early in the morning.  I'm not really a morning person per se, I just like working better when there's not so much commotion in the world around me.

Either way, it's now 6am as I'm writing this, and the sun is coming up and the poeple are slowly emerging from their beds and trickling into this little coffee-house that I'm in.  I've been here since around 3:30am, enjoying this book of mine, written by Julian May, linked on one of these side-bars of mine.  "The Surveillance," part of the series "Intervention."  It's really quite good, but it's not so much the storyline itself that's capturing my audience.  It's the way May portrays the relationship between Rogi, the main character, and his nephew Dennis.  It's quite fatherly in a great sort of way.  I wish I had farspeak for these purposes.  I'd love to have that sort of connection with my niece and nephew.  (For those that don't know, they're technically second cousins... but my cousin Meghan and I grew up like sisters, so I refer to them as my niece and nephew so as to portray the accuracy of my relationship with them and with her.  The remainder of my cousins and I aren't nearly as close--I'm not even sure of their middle names.  I doubt I'll get to know Tara's little ones very well at all as they come into existance, and this quirky family dynamic is one that I may expound on further at a later time.)  I miss them terribly, and wish more than anything that I could make Meghan's life a little better. 

But this relationship between Rogi and Dennis is one that reminds me of a relationship I had in the fifth grade with a little first-grader that I was tutoring in reading.  We rode the same bus and lived near each other.  I can't remember her name at all, but I want to call her Becky or Becka.  I'm almost certain that wasn't her name, though.  She was really quite starved for attention and positive reinforcement, and our time together did more for her self-esteem than for anything.  This in turn helped her learn to read much better.  Regardless, I adored her.  And I have no idea how or why we lost touch.

Being in this coffe-house reminds me of my adolescence.  I miss the coffee shops that used to exist around here.  For a brief time another barista was working here this morning, playing music that he and I discussed briefly, but fondly.  He was playing Ben Fold's Five's first album, and played his favorite song to me.  We bonded over also liking a particular song on the second album that reminded both of us of particular past relationships.  It was a nice event that made me sad in knowing that the morning shift would soon be here and that old coffee-house feel would be lost with their pop music and all the adult bleery-eyed people would soon be here for their half-caf double tall nonfat lattes.  I miss The Usual where we'd all sit around, not really necessarily knowing each other's names, but having intimate conversations about the things that inspire us in our respective art forms.

And so I remember what made me want to have a coffee house of my own so badly.  And I remember why I am so afraid to do it.  I don't want it to turn into an energy drain, where plenty of money is made (not that I mind making money for my efforts, money is fun to have), but no art is explored, understood, recognized, or even noticed.  Where no games are played, no ideas exchanged, and where coffee isn't the excuse for being there, but is the only reason for showing up in the first place.

My cafe would have a stage, would have a book shelf, would have doodle books like those from the first Usual.  There would be games to play, couches to sit on, benches outside, and kids could come and go as they liked.  It would be open all hours so that the riff-raff that taught me tolerance and compassion in my youth could do the same for other snobby-types like me.  And it would be full of art on the walls, on the shelves, on the coffee-tables, just because.