No Writing. No Time.

Not only has my café been taken away, so has all my writing time. I’m now working forty hours a week as a barista and I’ve got a sewing project for a friend, Rainbows, who is leaving the country. Next Monday in fact. So I have no time for writing. And no time for even reading.

Working six days a week I can only wonder at those that still find the time and energy to write at the end of a long day. Amazing.


Taking Away My Cafe

Of course nothing so dramatic as the title suggests has actually occurred. Or if it has happened then the culprit is only myself. If I hadn’t mentioned it before, I had finally found ‘my local’, a café close by home I would regularly go to write. Good coffee and good atmosphere, the two things I look for when renting out office space for $3 an hour or so.

I had been wandering around all of Sydney trying all sorts of places, revelling in the abundance of good quality espresso but still had not had found a regular place to write. When it finally happened I thought I had achieved some sort of milestone as a writer. Yes, now I have MY café. I am a writer.

The boss, Mr P and his barista John, run a friendly, bubbly service and were always happy to let me take up one of their tables, drinking a single short black over the course of an hour. Writing was progressing well there.

All that has changed.

Ahem. That sounds a bit dramatic. What I mean is, the coffee is still great, the guys still entertaining. The problem is I can no longer get any writing done while I’m there. I started volunteering as a runner there in the mornings, which means I help serving the coffee, occasionally pulling the espressos, though it is still a bit hectic during the morning rush.

I’ve been pulling coffees at church for a while already but working in an espresso café is a whole other ball game. The atmosphere is fun and the energy is great. And I get free coffee now. All at the low cost of losing my writing place.

Sometimes I go back in the afternoons after my other casual job finishes and though I’ve packed my laptop for writing, I often find myself chatting to Mr P about coffee if I’m not practicing pulling one myself. I can’t even think of finding another café to write in, so I’m going to need to discipline myself when I go to write there, maybe employ headphones. Or maybe do as I’m doing now, writing in my kitchen before I head out to face the morning coffee rush.