You know when you go to a conference, and you sort of arrive in a bit of a fluster because you weren’t sure if you’d make it on time and the map the organisers sent you isn’t very clear? and you’re not sure where to go and what to do with your coat? So you spy a desk with name badges and wait patiently for your tag while the harrassed conference administrator tries to find your name (even though you can plainly see your badge, but you don’t want to harrass her even more and make her feel like she can’t do her job. Yes, it’s always a her). And after you’ve affixed your badge somewhere to the top right of your person (is it on straight? is it more embarrassing to have a wonky badge, or to spend too long trying to get the badge aligned?) the waft of coffee hits you. COFFEE! you think to yourself, grateful for a distraction from the name badge dilemma, so you slink over to the trestle table clad in white cloth with the precarious piles of cups and saucers and the bored looking immigrant/underage/retired servers and ask for the brown elixir. The quality of the coffee is not important here because you’re just grateful to have something to do with your hands, so you shakily take back the cup and saucer, pause for a second, take a breath and turn around to face the room.
That moment. Right there. That’s how it feels to write your first blog post.
