It's okay to Breakfast on your own.

Newtown at 10am on a weekday is a bit of an in between place. Those who work in the city have left in their town cars or via public transport hours before you have dared graced the streets and anyone a similar age to yourself is either still in bed, or working at one of the many hipster, chic cafe's or coffee shops that open before sunrise. This leaves a strange mix-breed population of tourists, the unemployed and, like me, the lost day off-ers trying to figure out what to do. 

Without much contemplation or hesitation, I decide my morning will be spent somewhere secret, because if there's one thing I've discovered in life, it's that one will always survive if one can Breakfast on one's own. My choice of haven is situated a walk slightly too far from my hostel and friends houses for me to risk accidentally Breakfasting with company other than a book and is far too much of a competitor for me to risk a co-worker run-in on my solitary day off. 

Hiding in plain site, in a tiny little corner where even the waitress herself forgets I'm there, sipping on my strong soy flat white (which has a little too much head for my liking. But that's what happens when the place you work makes the best coffee in Sydney) and munching on a Bali-style ACAI bowl with "seasonal fruit" helpfully assisting my new lax-vegan lifestyle in my own bubble of anti-social isolation. I even bought a green juice with Kale in it.

Do I meet the stereotype yet? Or is it worth mentioning that my book of choice is the latest 'must-read' at the local bookshop, "a totally irresistible page turner" : I Was Told There'd Be Cake by the "post-modern Mary Tyler Moore", Sloane Crosley.

So what is the point of this? Other than confirming that I've found that place I will claim as my haven and never utter a single word of it to anyone. Nor will anyone know where/how to find me when I am there until I have decided to re-immerse myself back into the real world after pressing a three hour pause button consisting of two coffees, one breakfast, one overwhelmingly healthy-tasting juice and digesting five chapters of my must read. I have, in fact, stumbled apon one of those situations in life that one never really knows how to react to. Of course, when I say "stumbled apon" what I really mean is it slapped me in the face at 5 O'Clock one morning while I was getting ready for work and has since somewhat consumed my brain. 

The shock and denial followed by totally ignoring the situation altogether and simply hoping to live in an out-of-body existence until it all blew over plan was somewhat flushed down the toilet yesterday evening after I discovered my well-planned evening of dinner, sex and a private room, followed by a fun-filled day of breakfasting for two and a rock climbing date turned out to be a more fictional tale than the book I had been meaning to start. At times like this, I've found myself picking up the phone, and totally intruding on two particular people's evenings. Busying myself with swimming in their pool, cooking them dinner, drinking their alcohol and smoking their cigarettes until I was out in a night club, too drunk to function and being bailed into a cab by one of them and waking up the next day far too hungover to care about any plans I had originally made for the day. 

Sounds simple right? An obvious solution that avoids me getting angry, or needy, or even a little crazy. But the simple fact of the matter is that since that early morning slap in the face a few days ago, I don't know two people who pick me up when I'm down and get me drunk and feed me cigarettes and pay for hostel rooms after I've been mugged and have tequila shots in burrito bars in the middle of the day and drag me out of bed on a Sunday morning, feed me pancakes and drag me to the beach when I should be hiding out in my bedroom avoiding the fact that I called in sick at work at 4am. 

Instead, I now know two people in prison. So last night I slept alone in my private room and silently dropped off my key at reception at 8am, put on some clothes, and went for breakfast. Because you know what? When life throws you lemons like a tennis ball out of one of those aggressive training machines, all you can do is press those lemons into a healthy juice with FAD diets' new best friend, the curly kale, and accept that it's a Wonderful Life, as well sung by Katie Melua, no matter how bitterly healthy that juice tasted. I'd probably drink it again tomorrow.

So next time you see someone sat alone in a restaurant or a cafe, possibly reading a book, possibly writing one, don't pity their loneliness or consider how awkward a lonely breakfast would be, because you cannot knock it's effect on your overall mental state until you've tried it. I dare you. 

Peace out.