local press cafe

it’s thursday morning. i awake at 7am to my set-for-every-thursday alarm. class is cancelled for the week due to the ever-so-lovely canberra day public holiday. ‘i can sleep in a little longer and i’ll go to uni at like 10,’ my thought process says.

it’s 9am. i awake again. maybe i should go to local press for breakfast? could kill for one of their green breaky plates. could also start the fitasfk program i’ve been meaning to start for the past three weeks (for the first week i can have no red meat, no gluten, no corn products [including popcorn and cornchips!], no dairy products, no oils AND fucking best of all, no alcohol and no caffeine. so basically no fun for a whole week). need to go to the gym today. need need NEED to start that assignment that’s due tomorrow. alright. need to get up.

it’s 10am. i awake again. trying to justify the oversleeping by reminding myself of the early starts i’ve had for the past week. seriously need to get up.i don’t fall asleep again, which is a bonus. i do sit there and feel sorry for myself for a while. run all the shitty things through my head. get full depressed. realise i’m being a fucking idiot. think about making breakfast.

it’s 11am. i ate two salted caramel macarons for breakfast. epitome of health and fitness, i am. finally get out of bed and put a shirt on. don’t think anyone’s home so walk out to the kitchen with no pants on. oops, caden’s home. soz caden. open the fridge door. close the fridge door. local press is sounding more appealing. i’ll go and get ready and head into kingston.

it’s 2pm. i’ve finally made it to kingston after getting distracted by the book i’m reading. ‘How to Be Single’ by Liz Tuccillo. fucking hilarious depiction of the single life for 30somethings. secretly hope i’m not one of them one day. realise as long as i’m happy then relationships don’t determine my worth. classic rackers thought process.

it’s a beautiful day in the nation’s capital and i’m regretting the long black pants and hat. remind myself to shave my legs and wash my hair next time. 

local press cafe, 91 eastlake parade, kingston ACT


i got my trusted green breakky plate, and let me tell you, it did not disappoint yet again. look at how serious i am bout dat food. i will never be a food critic because i cannot try new things and get out of my comfort zone for the life of me. 

ima give the experience a 4.5/5 from ya one n only @rackersindacity. the music was on point, even caught myself singing along a couple of times. food, two thumbs up. service, though, man. i work in hospitality, my sisters have worked in hospitality, my life is basically hospitality – you gotta keep a smile on that dial. the young lady put my food down on the other side of the table and grabbed the table number, without saying a word. i said my chirpy lil ‘thank you!’ and still nothing. come on, man. that is not ok service.

but, as always, i’ll go back there. probably with my best gal whenever the fuck she’s home next. (miss u clauds).

so anyway. should probably do this assignment.

until next time lovers. peace

By rackers

25 year old writer, just trying to find her way through the world through words.

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