The following was written by me in a notebook during lunch today:
Here I am, sitting here in the cafeteria of 22 O'Meara Street, in a building formally run by Nuns. I have a large chocolate milk, my music ('Bed and Breakfast Man,' Madness) playing in my ears.
My chocolate milk is in a large carton as they didn't have small cartons at the store from where I bought it.
To my left sits a buzz-cut, smooth-skinned character named Justin. He is eating Chinese stir-fry silently. To my northwest sits Brent, a bloke who has an infantile sense of humor, traces of a beard and the old habit of calling everyone around him 'guy.' His lunch consists of what his mother prepared for him, brought in a used Farm Boy grocery bag.
In front of me sits Étoile and like me he listens to music. Tall, with a dark complexion, he enjoys a glass of what looks like berry punch. A large book sits on the table with him, but he does not read it.
I come in the wake of a sad weekend. The first love of my life formally cut off any ties with me in a final e-mail. It was, in a way, expected, though not formally in an e-mail like that. Personally, I am much happier that it ended this way because I have closure. Still sad though.
Today I have spent my time in what I call 'the program.' This is why I am sitting here. This is why I know and can provide descriptions of these people. It's so much better than being at home, although I sometimes find that I am above some of the stuff we do. Like learning how to manage a budget, like we're doing today.
During that time I spent a lot of energy tying up a story thread I'd forgotten to finish in my novel that I've since finished last summer. It's quite romantic.
As I continue to write, Étoile is now the only one sitting here at this table other than me. He finishes the juice and reads the large book he has.
It's a mildly sunny day, but cold. It's always cold on sunny days in winter. It's a new day, a new week, a new year. I'm moving on which should be much easier now. I just wish and hope that finding the perfect person isn't too hard or complicated. I hope it's soon as well. I'm sure everyone wishes and hopes for this though.
The clock currently says 12:45pm. I've got 15 minutes before returning to meager budgeting issues. 'Rise and Fall' by Madness is playing in my ears. My chocolate milk is 90% finished. The cafeteria is largely empty except for myself, Étoile, and a man talking with Habon, another girl in the program. Oh, Brent just came back.
Time is almost up. I've just read this so far to Brent and Étoile, who seem to like it. The song fades away as lunch ends.
12:55pm, Jan. 10th, 2011
The reason I wrote that is because I kind of miss old-fashioned writing, and while I don't intend on keeping a diary, I do like to write and describe my surroundings now and then. It's a nice way to keep a record of something, or to have a hard piece of writing for once - people used to send each other real letters and actually write diaries that, in certain cases, their later biographers would use as reference and source information. I like the idea of having a record of a random lunchtime one day. I find that kind of information interesting.
Justin C. (4:11pm)