bot·te·ga | \ bōˈtāgə, bəˈ-\
: the studio or workshop of a major artist in which other artists may participate in the execution of the projects or commissions of the major artist.
Italian, artist’s studio, from Latin apotheca warehouse.
The problem is that I will stay awake until 3, 4 or even 5 am to finish a good book. This is one of the reasons I toggle between 5 to 7 of them at once; to keep my attention thinner on each page, while actually getting some sleep.
Which is the best way to date, I am told.
Which is not how I do it.
‘What kind of man do you want?’, she asked.
‘An honest man.’
‘Is that really true? If the man from last summer had been honest with you, would you have wanted him?’
‘No. And in fact, if I had known, I would have never granted him entry into my world.’
‘So, then. What are you looking for?’
‘I am looking for a man who does not need to lie. I am looking for a man with integrity of character.’
Like Noreen once said, God is in the details. And it is in the smallest snippets of conversation that I can always find the most important truths.
Today, I am grateful for:
1. Knowing that every time I walk into La Bottega (64 George St), I will have Ottawa’s best coffee with one of my favourite humans, whose smile makes me so happy.
2. Amanda Panda. There is a chance yet that I will be able to visit her in Zimbabwe over the course of the next couple of years, inshAllah.
3. Catching a common cold, a thing which happened annually during university asap exams were over. This evening, I write while in bed because now that French exams are over, and Reemo and Omar have left, my body knows it can force me to rest. And rest it will, while sneezing a million little sneezes. Send me your soups, friends.
Ottawa | Day 314 | October 10, 2019