My friend left her iPhone charger in my apartment, and somehow, I only managed to bring a piece of it. I have very few, if any responsibilities, and, yet, the tiniest commitment poses a massive challenge to my brain functioning.

And, yet, set up in a Coffee Shop, with my iced coffee or tea or latte, free wireless, surrounded by my caffeinated peeps, I can make myself think that I am making great progress. But I'm an "artist," I can't be expected to show up on time, and allow my four-hour Facebook warm-up time before my 20-minute creative writing spree ensues. I know everyone in Coffee Shop Land. I make appointments, dates, hold meetings, I should really pay more than the $3 a day rent.

I feel very popular and accepted. As if I were going to work at a great job, that is, if my job were to drink coffee, peruse Facebook, and occasionally do a little writing (clearly, I'm not blogging). However, there is always the possibility that I'm really just slowly degenerating into a Coffee Shop Nomad, and in twenty years will devolve into the Crazy Lady at Peete's On Main who insists on overtaking two tables and four chairs, and talks to herself.

Just for today, I'm a Coffee Shop Nomad.