DRAMARAMA

Because my life is so boring I have to make up little stories about the everyday occurences in my life, and convince myself that somehow I'm extraordinary. And because I am a hopeless storyteller in person, I'll do my best here. I've been told I'm okay at writing.

My Starbucks is a source of neverending drama. It's almost as good as Muni used to be, except mostly the drama is in my head. Every day when I walk in, there are a bunch of well-dressed dudes in the upper mezzanine where I study. They talk in hushed tones and eye me warily as I walk in. In my overactive imagination, they are nationals from Ethiopia, Egypt, or Dubai, plotting against the government. And they have to be near D.C. to hatch their evil plot, but far enough away so that the CIA won't find them out. What better place than a Starbucks in Silver Spring to go undercover from? They even have wireless internet!

So I'm paranoid that they think I'm trying to listen in on their conversation, in whatever language it is. And then I think, how cool would it be if I really were an undercover CIA agent, pretending to study epithelia and enzymes, when I'm really decoding their babble and sending it back to headquarters! Naturally, they'd issue me an official "textbook," and I'd take "notes," all to help me blend in. And I'd be wearing my sweats and glasses to try to be as nondescript as possible.

And this is what I go through for the first ten minutes of every study session, every day.