Coffee: Locomotive Blend, PennyCup Coffee
Two more weeks and I will have been posting coffee logs for a year. I’ve been posting daily, though I did miss one day. Still, 364/365 ain’t bad.
When you’re a kid, people tell you to journal. They want you to write but only so that you can become proficient. You’re supposed to know how to put sentences together. You’re supposed to present yourself professionally.
I always hated those assignments. They seemed silly and inconsequential. And to be fair, they were silly. Given a weekly prompt, keep your daily log. There’s no soul to writing something because you have to. No different than signing your name on a receipt.
But somehow I’ve come full circle and started daily blogging in my later twenties. Of course, no-one told me I had to do this. That helps. And the topics change based on whatever I happen to grab. But it’s still a journal, of sorts. There’s no way around that.
Today’s been rough. Nothing in particular has happened to make it so, just a feeling. Sometimes, sitting in your desk at work and looking at the world through the office windows makes you feel insignificant. It’s like a terrarium: you see all the acrobatics you’ve gone through to trap yourself. I’m happy, in a way, and that’s the saddest thing of all.
But at least I can take the time to write about it. A little bungee bouncing me back to some sort of center. And here you all are reading this, every day, for a whole year. Thanks. You must be very patient.
Novel Count: 19,974
Currently Reading: Killing Commendatore, Haruki Murakami
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By the time it came to the edge of the Forest, the stream had grown up, so that it was almost a river, and being grown-up, it did not run and jump and sparkle along as it used to do when it was younger, but moved more slowly. For it knew now where it was going, and it said to itself, “There is no hurry. We shall get there some day.A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner