NOTE: I wrote this at the bookstore earlier. I thought I’d put it in for Dave. Because I know he has nothing to occupy his time, (I say time because his thoughts are always consumed with Lara! ) and might find some purpose in having something to read.

Oh now the boisterous yawping of the crowd has begun. A few minutes ago I was sitting serenely in the corner of the Border’s cafe, writing and being cold. But now the loudmouths have trespassed on my silence and with their sonorous voices they feel the need to project their seemingly witty remarks loud enough as so we all may be enlightened. I do wish they’d shut up. Bookstores are synonymous with solitude and furthermore, the silence that corresponds. Oh I pity the extroverts who teem with gregarious conversation overtly and annoyingly. If they’d just lower their brilliant voices and refrain from dashing hand movements, they would gain great favor in my eyes. Hmm. I think maybe I’m just in a fey mood because of my stolen peace. I don’t know, I think majority should be the deciding factor on the quiet policy in bookstore cafes. You see, if you’re at a cafe at night then of course the whole place is teeming with noise. Night is the time when people come out of their somnolent shells and begin to live. And besides, if the whole cafe is muttering nonsense, then one more voice (which belongs to you) is simply a trivial addition that no one will notice. But during the day it is entirely, entirely different. The day is solitude itself. A cafe in the day is witnessed only by the sunlight draping through to stretch over cluttered tables. Cafe inhabitants during the day understand the beauty of the often avoided and under credited silence. If one were to enter a cafe in the day, it would be quiet and therefore they too would be expected to maintain the low level of dialogue. But! It is inevitable that one disrupter will enter the cafe with noise trailing behind him. He will sit down and talk just as if it were night. Then, having defied the majority, he will attract other loud partisans and soon everything is replaced. That is how it works, and that is exactly how it is working now. Only now girls are talking. And they aren’t exactly talking modestly, they are more yapping in uneven inflections so that the cafe waves when they release a new word. It’s horrible really. It’s awful when it becomes crowded. It defeats the whole purpose of a cafe. Unfortunately, my sentiments are not mutual . So I recline deeper into my chair, type faster and hope the racket of my typing overrides the chatter of the crowd.

It is currently snowy outside right now. Not snowing, just snowy. I was a skeptic when I heard the prediction for wintery weather in March (although they do tend to say it snows a lot in March... it doesn’t seem right to me somehow) and when I woke up this morning I expected to find nothing but grass. I hate snow in March. March is made for sun. I was getting quite cold where I was sitting before, nestled into a nice and dreary corner, isolated from the view of some of the notorious chatters. Now I am sitting out in the open and feeling quite exposed and all the mystery and enjoyment of being a cliched writer in a cliched cafe has left. I’m thinking I would look very silly if I were to move again back to my little corner, dragging my bagful of books and journal with me, but I feel too public out here. And the nearness of the people bothers me. Maybe I will devise a clever plan to leave the cafe, pick up a book, rove around some and then come back and reclaim my table in the corner. I’m so weird like that. I have to be in these special writing spots that I find everywhere. And I hate being told to write. More than anything I loathe sitting in class and then suddenly being instructed to stop and sit exactly where I am and just write for the night is coming. It’s a discouraging thing.

Oh great, I am also (in addition to being nearer to people) closer to the speakers. There is a lovely renaissance-ish music playing, but the saturnine corner seemed to block out all sound or at least dilute it until the only thing that filtered through was a halcyon lull. This chair seems less comfortable then the other, and this table less inviting, and intelligent thought less present. I need to learn to adapt and love my fellow man and write regardless. So I will stick it out.

A very cute old man just sat down at the table in front of me and he positioned himself so that whenever we look up we are staring at each other. He has smiled warmly at me a few times and he’s so wonderful just sitting there with his fishing magazine and outdated glasses. It’s so amusing to sit and watch people. I have been doing it all day. But this isn’t a good people watching day. Maybe tomorrow. Being in bookstores is so nostalgic and so satisfying. It’s almost like you can be miserable in a bookstore and not even care. Yes, bookstores are the epicure for life.