these pretzels are making me thirsty
do you know these dreams when you’re trying to run but no matter how much effort you put into moving your legs, you only move in slow motion, you do not really leave the spot, you painfully try to get ahead but nothing changes. it’s the same feeling with the thesis. i’ve been sitting here for twoandahalf hours, and all i’ve managed to write is a single page. a fucking single page. it’s frustrating. and this page’s not even any good. and i haven’t even started to work on the complex parts, i’m still writing on the introduction to the chapter, and actually my only task is to describe plot and style, which should be routine work, for christ’s sake! fuck! i have the strong desire to take the ibook and smash it on the floor, but i’ll know better than to give in to this.
“how’s things?” sebastian is asking me passing the table.
“fine…” i murmur “…couldn’t be better.”
the next time he’s stopping by my side, leans on the table and says in an unusually low voice:
“can i talk to you for a minute later?”
“well, sure! is anything the matter?”
“hm, no, i mean yes. it’s just that i would like to tell you something, but…”
“the check please!” someone’s yelling from across the room.
“got to go!” and he hurries away.
great! that’s exactly what i need right now: suggestions that i know will keep my mind busy the entire evening. tell me something. jesus! what is this supposed to mean? good news or bad news? and what would be good news in the first place? and i’m trying to remember the way he had looked at me: friendly? relaxed? nervous? excited? flirtatious? serious? or did he simply give me his old great gatsby smile? after twenty minutes i decide that i cannot remember anymore.
after what seems to be an eternity the café is getting emptier and finally he is asking his colleague if she will manage on her own for a couple of minutes. he unbinds the apron and throws it onto the counter carelessly, sighs, [good sign?], opens a bottle of becks-beer [good sign?] and comes walking over to my table. and before i have the chance to start wondering whether he will sit next to me or opposite, or to ponder upon which option is the better sign, he’s taking the chair opposite me, and wipes his face with his hands.
“what a day!”
“stressful?”
“sort of.” a warm smile. good sign. i smile back.
“hey, come on! you’re a pro! don’t let yourself be irritated by a couple of unfriendly guests.”
“oh, that. no, that’s not it, actually!”
“so, what is it? what do you want to talk to me about?”
perfect! and just now the battery of the ibook starts to blink and i don’t have the power supply with me 
