all my time, energy, and ambition -- what little of those were left, anyhow -- have been taken up by Messiah rehearsals, but let me at least tell you about how two nights ago I walked down to Starbucks in between rehearsals to grab a coffee, and how the guy working the counter (cute, with glasses) flirted with me, but in that standard, customer service sort of way -- asked me how my night was going, asked where I worked, etc -- but then how when he'd finished making my latte he noticed that the last centimeter of the cup was empty, and offered to make me another one. Let me tell you how I wondered if this was a clever excuse to keep me a little longer, and so I accepted; and how, when my second latte was finished, he drew a heart in the foam!
Last night I returned and we discussed our glasses, which spiralled into a discussion of prisms, and how it's a word you don't hear often, "unless you're a scientist," one of the other guys said, and I added, "or a rainbow maker."
For now this mostly fabricated romance is the mental fodder carrying me to the moment I step on the plane. How sad is it that I am eagerly anticipating being on the flight home? As much as I hate the all-day headache of flying west to east, I can't wait to sit somewhere for an entire day without anyone needing anything more from me than my drink order.