Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 117

Hi.

Coffee: Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee

A thin blue beetle was the first bright thing. Then there was that phone call with the old woman who wanted to help her daughter with a new car. And, coming home, the spritz rain, five miles too far north for the thunderstorms, bouncing like rubber band balls on the windshield, tht-tht-tht-tht-tht-tht. I was listening to Nirvana but the rain got through between songs.

I’m still weightless. A long week of little sleep and too many dreams to pack into the hours. Bleary and in-cognizant, I see myself three feet ahead of me, manipulating common objects, out-of-body but in the most mundane way, where your hands only know how to wash dishes, cut green onions, do daily chores. It’s nice, in a way – the rest of me is left to walk around with ghosts.

I like to imagine… (that’s all). But imagining’s so much harder when you’ve got important things on your mind. I heard a story about hail that hit Sanford the size of nickels, about a scared dog with health issues, about a stoplight that was tipped over, webbing powerlines down to the roofs of cars, and about what it feels like to touch something, whether that something is a statue, a paper hat, a pink slip licked up and down with black letters inking your job away, or a human hand.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

Support Relief for Family Suffering at the Border  – RAICES DONATION CAMPAIGN

In my eyes, I’m not lazy.

Nirvana, Scoff

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