I admit it, I love going to restaurants alone from time to time. It’s nice to sit, eat in peace, perhaps read or journal, and most importantly, eavesdrop on a few conversations. Today I ate Thai surrounded by tacky wooden buddhas, gold wall carvings and purple carpet. The busboy was Mexican and the rest of the staff seemed Thai. Sipping herbal tea and eating spicy food with chopsticks makes me all nostalgic for Asia. Nostalcia inspires me to write, as does envisioning the possibilities of the future. I hope the more life experience I garner to be nostalgic about, the more prolific my writing will become.
On another note, seated near me this afternoon were a middle-aged couple, seemingly business associates. They were chatting for most of the hour and a half I was there, or I should say, he was chatting. This man honestly talked non-stop about immigrant labor issues for a good hour. I hope the woman found it interesting, because otherwise she was in some major agony. I couldn’t see her face so I couldn’t really tell. Poor lady. I’m thankful to not be acquainted with anyone who talks that much. I used to work with someone who talked about mundane aspects of his personal life incessantly. Some days, at work, when it was just him and me and there wasn’t much to do, I wondered if job abandonment might be a better option than passing time listening to this guy.
I suppose I should be a better listener, but some people just try my patience. I don’t have a lot of patience though, so maybe I had better just work on myself.