>I’d Love to Write a Post Right Now, But….

Yes, I’d love to write something right now- so much that I’m actually sitting at a Starbucks down the street from my parents’ house, with the full intent of getting in some quality writing time away from my kids, not to mention my lovely, wonderful, and extraordinarily loquacious mother.

The fact is, I have all kinds of things that I need to tell you about. Unfortunately, the only table I could find here put me in the direct path of the late-afternoon sun. So instead of coming up with clever and witty stories, I’m squinting and sweating and trying my best to peck out a word or two on a screen I can barely see.

Oh! Did I tell you about the latest funny thing Punky said? Well, I would right this minute, except that there’s a long line of people in front of my table, all of whom apparently are engaged in some kind of competition to see who can talk the loudest. Their voices are bouncing off of the tiles on the floor and ricocheting from the wall of windows right into my aching eardrums.

“GAH! School was so BORING!”

“I’ve been OFF for FIVE HOURS now! FIVE HOURS!!”

“HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”

“Let’s get together this FRIDAY and SEE A MOVIE!”

“HA HA HA HA HA HA!”

Oh, there also was a poignant post I was going to write, about how much I miss my husband after five days apart. But I lost all my words the moment the barista turned on the coffee grinder/ice crusher/sonic barrier breaker, also conveniently located just over the counter from my table.

Maybe I could write about something simple, like what I think of the whole Britney Spears Brouhaha, or maybe I could instead write an entire post lamenting the fact that I can’t seem to write anything these days without the word ‘Brouhaha’ in it. However, there’s a long line forming to get to the bathroom, conveniently located right behind me, and so a small crowd of people are able to peer over my shoulder and read every word I write, as I write it. Plus, I can hear pretty much every noise emanating from behind the apparently hollow bathroom door. Kinda puts a stopper on that creative flow, know what I mean?

And so I sit here, jumping half out of my seat each time the Starbucks manager, who’s deep in conversation five feet away from me, laughs in this maniacal, falsetto tone. And while I should be writing, instead, I’m learning the entire life history of the cashier, who’s been shouting bits and pieces of it to each customer in line.

“I used to be a smok-uh.”

“When I was in school like you, we didn’t have uniforms.”

“I worked in a factory for 15 ye-uhs.“

Before I pack up and return to the relative peace provided by a nine-month old boy and three-year-old girl, I will tell you this: I get e-mails from readers all the time, asking me how I manage to write so many posts, day after day after day.

Honestly? I have no freaking idea.

This post originally appeared on Parents.com.