I think every writer has to face the challenge of finding the time and energy to write. I'm no different. There are times when writing is the first thing I feel I should be doing and the last thing I want to do. I have an Omnifocus list a mile long. I know I should write, but every time I sit down to do it, the pile of stuff that I need to be sorting makes itself known, or the fact that the house still isn't done getting painted, or there's laundry to do. The list goes on.
An escape to Starbucks for some quiet time works a treat...sometimes. I can get a Skinny Mocha and sit in one of the big, comfy seats with my laptop on my lap and have nothing to worry about but to write. Time to focus.
Then "Starbucks Guy" sits across from me. I haven't figured out his schedule, but he's arrived shortly after me on several occasions. Maybe it's just luck. His favorite seat is directly across from mine. I'd move, but I'm in MY favorite seat.
As soon as he sits down, he starts DOING IT.
He crosses his legs.
Or perhaps I should say almost crosses his legs. It's always his right leg coming up to rest on his left, but it almost never makes it. It comes up, the calf of his right leg just touches the kneecap of his left, and then it losses its will. It just gives up, and back down it goes. Sometimes it doesn't even make it that far. Other times it'll make it all the way and come to rest on his knee. In those moments a part of me cheers, like that video of the mouse and the cracker. But the cheer is always short lived. The leg is fickle, and having achieved its goal, it decides that life up on the knee isn't really as great as it thought it would be, and down it goes again, only to decide resting with foot on floor isn't quite right either, and so on.
It's almost rhythmic. Almost. You can't really predict anything about the movement. You can't capture the pattern and let it fall into the background of your attention. Some circuit in my brain keeps anticipating the next action. Will it make it this time? How high is it going to go. Will just just stay down now? Like a blemish on your favorite piece of artwork, or a dead pixel on your TV, you can't unsee it once it makes its way into your consciousness.
That's it. That's all he does. The first time he sat down it took me a long time to notice. Maybe he's even been there several times before without making his way into my consciousness, but now he's there. I see him sit down and think here we go.
It shouldn't bother me. It's completely innocuous. If I were a good person, I wouldn't complain. If I were a person capable of FOCUS, I'd push it out of my attentional field and move on. But there it is, going up and down. And almost up... And down...
It's stopped raining. Maybe I should got back to painting the house.