I’m sitting at a window bar in Starbucks staring at a row of parallel parked cars and meters with no time left on them. It’s Sunday. And Sunday is the one day of the week you can venture downtown without digging for quarters in your coat pockets and between your car seats.
Parking is free on Sunday. Which means there is nowhere to park.
Joe and I were lucky. We spotted break lights as we rounded the corner and slipped into a parking spot as quickly as it had been vacated. Walking out of the public parking lot we crossed in front of a line of cars that were about to circle the lot and, finding it completely full, leave frustrated.
Unfortunately, all of those other lucky souls who managed to find a parking spot on a Sunday afternoon also got to the local coffee shops first. Which is how I ended up sitting at a window bar in Starbucks watching a man in a white Sudan struggle to parallel park.
But the point of this isn’t which coffee shop I bought my chai latte from. The point is today is a day I did not need to leave my house. I did not even need to leave my bed. But I got up this morning, I took a shower, I got dressed and did my makeup, and decided to spend the day writing and reading downtown.
I always love being downtown once I’m already here, but sometimes it is simply impossible to convince myself to make the trip. That’s part of living with a depressive anxiety disorder–sometimes you don’t even want to do the things you love doing. Because there will be so many people, and what if you can’t find anywhere to park, and what are you really going to do there anyway because everyone knows your writing isn’t going anywhere and also there are so many things you fucked up this week that you need to obsess over today. Best to to stay in bed. Best to not bother.
That little voice in my head is a persuasive bitch. But she’s been quiet this week. I know it’s not permanent. I know she’s still there. I doubt I’ll ever manage to fully evict her. But that doesn’t mean I won’t celebrate the days when she’s not home. And what better way to celebrate than by leaving purple lipstick stains on coffee cups and writing the story that’s inside me.