coffee off the clock is a weekly column full of musings on life since i left my 9-5, and building a life around writing. join me for a coffee every week and follow my journey!

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happy sunday, reader! i write to you hunched over my desk with soaking hair wrapped in a towel, adorned with a noisy cockatiel. he’s the cherry on top. i thud away on my keyboard as he sings peek-a-boos, watching the pigeons flap toward our roof from a safe distance, and he’s simultaneously terrified and excited by them.

sort of like me when it comes to the ocean. love swimming in the sea, hate not knowing what’s beneath me. equal parts terrified and in awe of it. and that’s what keeps both of us going back. although, i’ve let out a small chuckle while writing this, reader, because i never thought i’d be drawing comparisons between me and my cockatiel on a sunday morning. i can never be sure where these columns are going or how the ocean seems to creep in. for what it’s worth, i’m a water sign. ♏️

also, today, majd had kindly brought me a little coffee from greggs again, but reader, i am far too excited to show you a not so shabby attempt at my own latte art on thursday instead. i had an almond croissant from helmi’s with a little side of fruit. i mean, i say ‘attempt’, but i didn’t attempt it at all – the heart just happened on accident which i think is cuter!

so where am i beyond the desk, the cockatiel and the thoughts of the deep unknown? i’ve recently just hit 23,000 words of my novel. i’m preparing this week’s introduction into the autumn storytelling circle for my writing class. i’m starting a second class, eeeek!! (which, if you’re curious about, you can sign up here). and i’m just about to book a trip to york with my best friend.

lots of small, steady but exciting progress in my life. and i know if i told ailsa two years ago of all the things that have unfolded, she wouldn’t have believed me. for her, life was over. she didn’t realise it had only just begun. although, this week has been quite odd for me. i feel on the cusp of something but not entirely sure what. and i always trust what i feel, more than what i see. i’ve learned this the hard way in the last few years.

inspiration and energy seems to arrive sporadically rather than in one steady stream. one morning, i’m waking up from a dream where i learned languages and i’m full of excitement, opening my fleur du mal book, committed to expanding my french. i’m pulling up a calendar and slotting in days where i’m dedicating time to singing along to fairuz and learning arabic.

i’m bursting with a child-like curiosity, asking majd the arabic words for everything. i’m flicking between videos of empires: the ottomans, the romans, the holy roman. then i’m watching a documentary series on the mongols and genghis khan. i’ve come alive. then, the next day, radio silence. nothing interests me. i become apathetic. i’ve many projects. many things i’m devoted to and yet none of them compel me. in fact, yesterday, i spent a good portion of the day in a weird melancholy, staring at the ceiling.

but never have i been a blue calm sea, i have always been a storm.and it’s easy to get frustrated, to think that something is terribly wrong. but i’m becoming a seasoned traveller through the vast landscapes of my own inner world. that’s what two years in a deep, reflective solitude does. so these states don’t concern me as much as they interest me.

i feel between worlds and my dreams echo this. dreams of camping in tents by a shoreline. moving through hotels. packing bags. everything is liminal space. thresholds. it’s like life is giving me a small taste of all that lights me up: culture, languages, places, history, the arts. it gives me a glimpse, then withdraws. it’s like testing the ground. pulses of electricity before the whole system comes back online.

yesterday, i even wrote this short piece called two sticks:

i’m out here with two sticks
in friction.
and every so often,
i get a spark.
not a flame.
learn languages,
paint a mirror,
write a book,
dance.
and i’m scared if don’t get it right,
i might just burn the whole world down.
or maybe that’s just an excuse
to avoid holding the flame.

so, i keep going. i keep writing my novel. keep working on my classes. keep acting on the small things that insist “this”, yes even a weird led zeppelin essay. i’m holding the flame. allowing the apathy to come, and to go. fighting nothing. allowing it all.

until next week reader, may all your coffees be as sweet as you! unless you like them bitter then i don’t know what to tell you… 😌

– ailsa x