Tonight was my seventh "last night" at Starbucks.

Okay, I included store transfers in that number.

I have not worked at Starbucks for at least a month at this point. Of course, I miss it for the people who I do not see everyday. I miss it because I love coffee so much. I miss steaming milk. But frankly, that is it.

I mentioned to one of the employees that I graduated from college with a degree in English and writing.

"Oh really?" she said.

"Yes," I said.

"And you work at a bed and breakfast? What a waste."

I froze mid-coffee scoop. Froze, but only for a moment. She does not know what the job entails. That is okay. I began scooping again.

And then, of course, I began to dream again about my affair with writing. I can only mildly call it an affair for now. Family and work have taken precedent over it. I cannot answer the question of why it does not fit into my schedule often other than the obvious answer: perhaps I am not as passionate as I once was.

That hurts.

Alright, enough already. It's no thing to complain about - this stage, that is. Writing will always be my first love. And today I made chocolate ganache eclairs with strawberries. And I absolutely loved doing it. And I do not regret spending the time and detail it took to create those little masterpieces.

Perhaps I am merely placating myself.

Bah.