My apologies to those who might have dropped by over the past few days and discovered that the Broken Coffee Cafe was closed.
I had been tidying up a bit, as you may have noticed over the course of several days when this site’s themes changed almost every minute. I have not yet decided on the final “feel” of the Cafe and will still surely change the one that you see here (currently where the header is a forest with a lone butterfly). I hope you will bear with the dust and the thumps and the bumps until such time that the site will be presentable enough.
As our good government says,
This is where your taxes go.
Or at least, a percentage of your taxes.
I just have a confession to make. It’s been a while since I did something drastic [the last time was some months ago when I got a haircut that made me look like a younger version of Fanny Serrano]. Over the last few days, I had considered closing down the Cafe and creating another blog centered on attrition rates, the joys of trail biking on weekends, hard-to-pronounce gourmet dishes, and the benefits of having an insurance premium while one is still 14 years old.
But insanity prevailed and I decided to chuck the project plans for a blog that I had planned to call “Tales of the Insurance-Toting Biker Chick Gourmand (we rock HR!)”. It was meant to be hosted by another blogging platform with monetizing features.
Moreover, last weekend, I updated my psychological know-how and had come across the term “hypergraphia.”
Old friend Wiki defines hypergraphia simply as “an overwhelming urge to write.” From the looks of it, that is not so bad. However — yes, there is always a catch –it can be caused by epilepsy and/or the manic stage of bipolar disorder.
Honestly, I got scared. What if all the writing I’ve done, especially in the Broken Coffee Cafe, is just a manifestation of my mania? I know (and I rap on wood as I say this) that I do not have epilepsy, but the urge to write comes to me even in the middle of the night, at times when I am at work, or at some other time that I am doing something else pleasurable and otherwise. And this is my secret that I didn’t have time to create a postcard for and send to Postsecret: Since I was fourteen, I got to toting a notebook with me and a trusty pen wherever I roam, just in case the Muse came calling. The notebook-and-pen tactic safeguards me from writing stuff on leaves or on dirt or carving prose (no matter how bad) in stone just to satiate the urge to write write write.
I got scared because I have a suspicion that my neurosis is not way below the statistical baseline. If you, dear reader, have read through the roller coaster emotions of my past posts from October 2006, you’ll get the idea that I am not one stable blogger. This here Broken Coffee Cafe is the product of one authentically bordeline deranged Feyoh.
And so I closed down the Cafe to see if the urge to write will abate.
Well, it didn’t. My hand itched to scrabble out words to tell the world of plans to alleviate the human condition, to finally answer what life means, to write write write.
So I got scaredier. And the Cafe remained closed, far from my grasp (and far from the prying eyes of those Unimaginative Shoemakers).
So I got scarediest.
Well, at first, that is.
Coz, you see, I’m writing again.
Come by anytime soon for updates. I still owe Nilroz a treatise on the comparative study of the thrivability rate of tarsiers and those human subspecies called copyeditors when removed from their natural habitat.
Mania be damned. I live for this s#%t, so says one Xander Cage, and I quote him here.
As for those Unimaginative Shoemakers, why! Welcome to the Broken Coffee Cafe. Feel free to look around.