Well, another week, more drilling. And this time, it’s loud. Not just, “Gee, that’s a sound that I can hear,” but more like “Oh, that’s a sound I can feel.” I’ve got in my handy-dandy earplugs, but they don’t seem to be cutting it today.

I’d go work somewhere else, but I’m hopeless at it. I can’t help it, I’m people-watcher by nature, and it’s irresistible for me to see the drama unfolding in front of me, even if that drama entails the stricken face of someone dealing with a laptop on its last battery legs. Or someone else unsure of the temperature of her coffee. I’m pretty easily distracted.

And besides, it’s not as though coffee shops are temples of silence. There are usually a few people talking into their cellphones, voices raised to combat the scourge of spotty connections. I’d tune them out, but I’m not well-versed in the art of untuning. Then there are the conversations, though those can fade into a murmur more easily, somehow, than the ones on a phone. And coating it all is the music, the kind that’s supposed to be background, yet always demands prime cortex real estate.

I will tough it out. I mean, we all have to suffer for our art, right? Besides, these guys have to go home eventually. I think.

Need something to read? Check out  Her Cousin Much Removed,  The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management and Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only) .

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