A good waste of a day

I'm sitting in my favorite coffee shop, procrastinating, people watching, and getting entirely too caffeinated.  I "should" be filling gaps in my novel.  But there really is no such thing as should.  I choose what I want to do, and there is no wrong choice when you believe that today is what it's supposed to be, no more and no less.  And today that meant going for a run with the dog, ignoring the dishes, talking to my roommate from college for almost an hour, and soaking in all that is familiar about my new town.

There is a little, older woman that frequents the same coffee shop.  She is Asian and beautiful, with toasted almond skin.  She always sits outside with her tiny geriatric dog.  She often wears black and white stripes and skinny jeans, and that makes me love her.  That and she complimented my haircut last week.  We share a fondness for pixies.  I don't know her name, and probably won't find it out.  And that's ok.

I recognize a few others today.  A shy man that looks like a young Mr. Bean, working away at his laptop.  The two older men that meet to play Scrabble and fight over who's paying for the coffee every week.  I think I'll ask them if I can play sometime.  But most of these people - plain and handsome, mysterious and loud - are strangers.  But they aren't.  They make up my new community.  I don't really have many friends here in North Carolina, but it doesn't bother me anymore.  Friendly faces are enough.

Maybe that's because I still have good friends in Michigan and family that I talk to regularly.  Or maybe it's because I'm content.  With myself.  With the weather.  With the way I use and don't use my time.  I'm really done judging myself for it.  One life.  One love.  I'm taking that to mean loving it all.  Even myself.  I call that a good waste of a day.