Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 129


Coffee: Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee

I spent the evening putting together a plastic model. I cut the pieces with a pair of wireclippers. I filed the nubs down with my fingernails. There’s red and yellow dust on the dining room table. There’s sore spots on my hands from holding small pieces in place.

When I was younger I thought I’d see outer-space. Really, I thought I’d live forever. I figured the one thing worth doing with your life was to keep living it so I set on scheming ways to extend myself. At first, these fled to sci-fi fantasies – I’ll live on in a computer, a mechanical body, a sentient satellite on its way to Mars. Then, when I was old enough to feel less dreams and more of my immediate mortality, I figured I’d go into science – biology – and cure cancer, or end aging, or….

But I didn’t have the heart for cold white labs and bits of liquids caught in glass. I didn’t have the mind for it either.

My favorite things are things I can put together. A plastic model, a pot of pasta, the Coffee Log. I’ve got no chance of outliving myself. Most likely, I’ll never see the stars from outside our atmosphere. Instead, I turn to things I can set the boundaries on, tiny things, things I can control.

The model turned out well. A giant robot, it’s sitting on the top of my bookshelf, right above the Histories of Herodotus, which seems to fit.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

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

Everything about me may have been crammed in there, but it was only plastic. Indecipherable except to some machine.

Haruki Murakami, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World

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