Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 18


Coffee: Breakfast Blend, Trader Joe’s Brand; over-eager like a new puppy, it jumps in your mouth and wags around, restless, happy, wholesome, until a few minutes later it pees on the floor. The blend was good at first but I brewed it too strong. Spent the rest of the day anxious.

I tried to write. I had writer’s block. Lately, I’ve been alternating between ‘off’ and ‘on.’ Either I’ll write five hundred words in fifteen minutes or nothing in a day. I can’t tell if that’s a good thing. It isn’t an easy thing. I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m not writing. Maybe that’s a part of a larger problem.

I’ve been planning a vacation. I was picking locations, settled on Richmond. I’ll go there in late April. It’s only three hours away. I picked the city because it’s got a good hostel. The last hostel I stayed at was in DC. Four years ago, touring American University before I applied for their MFA. I got accepted to that one and with a half-ride scholarship. Still couldn’t afford it. Still couldn’t go. Anyway, what I remember most about that trip was two things: the creeky bunk beds; having a quick coffee with M. We hadn’t seen each other in years. We caught up at a cafe and talked about her fear of mannequins. I kind of fell in love with her. Later, I’d tell her that, and later still, I’d really mean it. But that afternoon was just coffee and mannequins.

That’s it – the first day of daylight’s savings. Maybe that’s why I feel hungover. Maybe that’s what opened up a thin hole. Memories. Bugs. Afternoon static. A cool day, then a hot day, now a cool one again. Things come back to you. Or at least, we often hope they do.

Novel Count: 30,349

Currently Reading: Killing Commendatore, Haruki Murakami; FINISHED! 

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

I went to the Hotel of the Violet Hippopotamus and drank five glasses of good wine.

Anton Chekhov

Coffee Log, Day 142


Coffee: Cafe Pajaro Extra Dark Roast, Trader Joe’s Brand

There used to be a hotel here. I stayed there once, a Radisson. It was a school trip. I was in the ocean science quiz bowl, we were competing regionals in Raleigh. We won.

I remember the night in the hotel better than the bowl. We had a ten o’clock curfew, stayed in gender separate rooms. I was in a room with my best friend and current roommate, a few other guys. Before curfew, the girls hung out with us.

Ac sat on the bed with me. She’d come out the shower, was wearing daisy dukes. I’d had a crush on her since middle school. My friend was crushing on her now, and her on him. Anyway, R was in the shower himself, Ac and I were on the bed, she took my hand and started her fingers sprinting, telling me I had soft skin; a lot of people tell me that. I remember the floral sheets, pink-gold lamplight, Ac’s bronze skin. A couple months later I bought her yellow tulips for her birthday. She and R never got together. Of course, I never got with her either.

Bloodshot attraction at 17 – the Radisson’s gone; took a tack of curfew memories with it.

Currently Reading: LaRose, Louise Erdrich

Support Relief for Family Suffering at the BorderRAICES DONATION CAMPAIGN

“I went to the Hotel of the Violet Hippopotamus and drank five glasses of good wine.” – Anton Chekhov