As I sit here

My days are blurry, these last few weeks. Maybe they were months. I can't really remember anymore.

I battle with insomnia induced by caffeinated drinks at unholy hours of the day. Once a tea drinker, now a hopeless coffee addict. I think I battle slight fits of depression and anxiety too. Who knows. I push these things aside for my life post-thesis writing.

I play chess and learn arabic obsessively, anything to procrastinate writing a thesis. I have also started thinking in my dreams. My best ideas,  swear, come to me at my waking hours. Between the few feet from getting out of bed to switch the hateful alarm off, to walking to the sink to wash my face.

I have allergies too. Detestable unruly runny nose, constantly sore and red from wiping. I sniffle a lot too.

I am caffeinated right now, too. A mocha. Did I mention it also adds quite a bit of calories to my otherwise non exercise receiving body. My cheeks are fatter, I swear.

I miss my family. I miss my grandmother who is dying of a terminal disease. I miss my friends who I do not shower with enough love or letters. I think of all my friends who I have missed birthdays of, gifts to friends who have newborns. Please forgive me for this brief time I do not exist in the universe.

I finally mustered up the courage to speak to the woman who comes to sit in the same place at the coffee shop two hours before it closes, everyday. Or at least most days I am here. I made eye contact with her, and I asked her if I could get her a coffee. She gracefully declined, and then continued to talk to me. She told me she taught kids. I didn't understand everything she said. But I noticed she wouldn't stop talking. She has a laptop, she has bluetooth headphones and a phone. She charges everything, and then everyday, she falls asleep on the comfy chairs. I yearn to know her story. I wonder why. She has a suitcase and a bag. She owns a broken laptop with a big screen cracked right in the middle. I do not know. I hope she is ok. She understood the title of a paper on my pile of books. She knew and understood the nature of my work. She seemed lonely. Perhaps it was my conversation that was the real coffee.

I have been thinking about her the last few days. It is so strange. You don't know if it is appropriate to offer coffee or not. Is it offensive? Who knows. I hope I didn't hurt her feelings. I hope in some small way I was able to show kindness. I hope she is ok.

I must get back to my thesis writing now. I wonder if this is the end of my higher education. I hope not. I hope it is. I don't know. I hope everything will be ok.