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.”
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”
Stagnancy burns my soul. My bones and muscles physically hurt when I’ve sat/lied too long in bed or elsewhere. I’ve noted that the aches of stillness versus of movement feel so different. The former manifests as an itch, twitching restless leg syndrome, internal bouncing. The latter is deeper, satisfactory. DOMS which raises endorphins and cravings for more miles. Broaden these feelings to my unquenchable desire to explore, local or a little less local, Tampa or Orlando, a cruise across I-4 or a north-or-south set of turns down exits. Just get me in a driver’s seat, and I’m happier.