Black notebook

A bench seat driver

There she was. Doubtlessly in need to forget her frivolous work responsibilities. She needed an escape. With a very strong cup of tea - no sugar and two tea spoons of red milk  - as well as her warm grey blanket, that auntie Emily had crochet for  her last Christmas, she finished reading her magazine on mindfulness. She had always admired poets and writeres (as the old english would show). That  romance always filled her chest with warmth. There is a certain magic in the way a writers words flirt with the world that surround them. She craved it, but she knew she had to learn how to see people. Not as one who glances a beautiful women that crosses the street, but other as one who see how her walk resembles to a leaf that dances to the sound of the wind, gently touching the cobbles underneath her, making them wish for her return. For that she had chose to learn human behaviour and how does our brain works. Recently she had been introduced to mindfulness, a new and quite fashionable way of seeing the world that we think we so well know, by looking at it with no judgement, focusing on absorbing all details that we so easily ignore and unwinding from our anxieties and daily predicaments. After this, sitting down on the wooden bench in her backyard she had made a decision- next day she would  wake up early and go to the park to put all this theoretical knowledge to practice. 

At five minutes to eight the phone on the bedside would ring reminding her of the task ahead. Everyday she would give herself five extra minutes in bed, never longer than that. That would  simply be absurd or so she would say and just like that her day would start. After many words read in various books she came to a conclusion about herself, much similar to other human beings, she also craves for routine. Waking up at a certain time and following a certain routine everyday would allow her brain to communicate through the nervous system about what is to come:

Sit in bed stretching her neck, arms and back followed by her legs while on her feet, using her bedroom slippers. The shower  would than take place to allow for the breakfast at the living room table. Her body would then be feed with cream to care for her very soft and silky skin and so only her brain would be waiting for the so deserved refreshment- one page worth of reading and an inspirational sentence to see her through the day. To conclude  the morning routine, the need for a clean and composed image would lead her to the bathroom for make up and hair with a taste for a superstar dressing room.

- Good morning Francesca! - She would say looking at the mirror everyday recognising the successful ending of the waking up task. At this very kind sunny Saturday morning she was to walk to the park. Before that she would go to the bakery where she would buy freshly baked bread and cheese to go with the orange juice she would have squeezed at home. After 3 zebra crossings, two turns to the left and tens minutes of walking straight through the park she would arrive to her final destination: the wooden bench with a view to the lake and the romantic round cafe with leafs dropping down the roof. A perfect invitation to the enchanted space filled with promises of warm and cold drinks to go with a very nutritious  and delicious menu, available to all who allow themselves to the sin of luxury. 

One year after she had included this to the Saturday and Sunday morning routine. Every morning she would observe those who would walk in front of her, almost like a parade of characters that would so easily flood her brain with new and exciting stories. To each person who would catch her attention she would create a name, a personality, a story and so she would wait for the opportunity to revisit the characters if they would ever cross her bench once more. This was the thoughts that would intrude her brain repeatedly during the week while chained to the receptionist job in the law firm she was working from Monday to Friday.