I almost never recall the negative moments of travel – or, leastwise, I don’t dwell on them. Such a lack of attention is rare for me. I usually swipe through all the markers in a timeline, pause on everything, either smile in elation or sigh in defeat. I know on my second Orlando road trip, I struggled on day two. But it is not the most prevalent recollection. Thank goodness. Continue reading “roam | orlando pt. 2”
I take my own screw-ups far too seriously. When I’m wrong or in the wrong, the inner marshmallow plumes: I’m stripped of indifference, I apologize profusely, I want to right everything at once and mellow tempers and for the remainder of the day I dwell on the error even if it was minute & forgotten by the other party in five seconds. I suppose, then, that writing is partway so appealing because of the delete button. Retry. The writing won’t hold a grudge. This lentil recipe, too. Forgiveness between cook & cuisine is valuable like forgiveness between humans.
Subconsciously or not, I’ve christened Tuesdays as my venturing days. As I type this the calendar reads Wednesday, and I’m passing it like I generally do Wednesdays: laundry burbling, classical covers tinkling, all while I’m planted on my reading chair intermittently disrupting my productivity with stretching (tight calf, must loosen to bypass insanity) or Pinterest scrolls. Earlier I trekked a half mile for coffee. I guess the Sunday mentality falls on Wednesday for me, considering it’s place as the second of my days off before Thursday-Monday washes ashore. Continue reading “photobook | felicitous on 42nd + belleair coffee co.”
Emotionally messy – a series of moods coalescing with the week I traversed St. Petersburg. No mighty minotaur skewered the brain cells, really. I merely slipped on one of those tangles of anxiety which will only recede when dealt multiple uppercuts of patience, persistent patience. I find that leaving town can sometimes relieve both those symptoms and the general jitters of wanderlust. I’m settling into a pattern of weekly local explorations and this acquaintance is a welcome one. St. Pete. Next week, who knows. But it’ll be a lick of freshness. Continue reading “photobook | dali museum + demens landing park + intermezzo”
Snug, a marble-infused lightbox. How I’d describe The Vine to the inquiring. I switched workstations twice, from the high bar set behind the grinder and espresso machines (the magic-makers manned by the magicians themselves) to a round table by the wall, above which fern planters hung & on top of which a succulent breathed as I tapped away on Photoshop. I’m most comfortable in coffee shops relying most on natural sunlight, and The Vine receives a tick on my checklist. Continue reading “photobook | the vine baking co. + a river vignette”
She’s one of my platonic soulmates. Authorial pal. The lean-on whenever ration should conquer my emotions. She’s the magnifying glass helping me zoom on problems and solutions. We tap our writing utensils in unison. Continue reading “photobook | hyde park village & bayshore”
Pre-summer lasers of heat, Florida trademark of any month beyond February, scattered hazy glitter along the asphalt as I strolled from one end of Cass St. downtown, from the Tampa Museum of Art to the decided refuel station of Caffeine. I’d parked somewhat far to avoid paralleling and meters, but despite my wearing long sleeves & perspiring through the cloth, a midday anonymous walk in a city is strangely cleansing. Comforting, to be amongst folk who don’t know and don’t care. Continue reading “photobook | tampa museum of art & caffeine”