Coffee: Organic Honduran, Trader Joe’s brand
Misty this morning. I woke up at 5:30am. That’s only half an hour early, but I felt it. The sky was just dark enough to trick you into dreaming. Only I couldn’t dream, so I opened my eyes and watched mist form.
Maybe my fondest memory of the year I spent teaching isn’t about teaching; I loved the morning drives. I taught in Durham, lived in Burlington – for those of you not in NC, that’s a forty-minute commute that turns into an hour with traffic. To open my class on time I had to leave just before six. Each morning, I’d stop at a trucker’s gas station for coffee and a pack of pop-tarts. The sour white glow of the station lights are a part of me now.
No travels today. Too bad. That should bother me more. I worry that I’m moderately content.
Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
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“It seemed to be fog, and perhaps fog was also rising from the ground, but at that altitude it was difficult to distinguish the mists that rose from below and those that come down from above.” – Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose