Change

This morning, I had my last cup of coffee at the Robinson Street WorldCup, my preferred coffee shop for ten years. As of August 1, they will be on North Morris St., about a mile from here. I bought this house because I needed to be in easy walking distance (5 or 6 blocks) of WorldCup, the art museum, and the Byrd. What's the point of living in a city if you have to get in the car all the damn time? There is still walking-distance coffee in Carytown, but I like WorldCup best. I don't like change; I don't wanna figure out which brews, which sizes to order all over again. When a classmate recently gushed -- seriously, gushed -- about thriving on change I was dumbstruck. I know that all of us are different, blah, blah, blah: but, wow. I just didn't know what to say.

After 15 years' service, Friday was Teresa's last day running the reading room (and other Herculean tasks) at the Valentine Museum. As she may well be reported as saying in Style, she left for a part-time data entry job. Shall we have a creative writing contest to fill in between the lines?

The other, minor, change coming on August 1 is that the downtown Y wants us to provide our own locks for the lockers. I have a combination lock somewhere, I think. I wonder if I have the combination though?

Alas, I have yet to have so much as a call for an interview, so I won't be starting a new job August 1 -- something that seemed very possible just a month ago.

Deserted by my coffee shop and self-locking lockers; bereft of work. I'm working on a mild case of the blues.