Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 25


Coffee: Breakfast Blend, Trader Joe’s Brand

All of a sudden, I started calling this thing a ‘memoir’ instead of a ‘blog.’ Honestly, it’s probably both. I guess I felt like getting it dressed up. It’s the Coffee Log’s first prom. It’s pinned and tuxed. It’s wearing one of those white flowers people pin to themselves. It splurged and got a real one, a real dead flower. Boy, what an event!

But anyway, I wrote a memoir once. It was under great duress, let me tell you. Freshman year writing class, we had assignments to write a little bit of everything. And when it was time for the memoir, the only think I could think of was ‘Eat, Pray, Love.’ I don’t much like ‘Eat, Pray, Love.’ I tried reading it once on recommendation. It read like the kind of coworker who’s always trying to talk to you about her kid’s soccer games.

The memoir I ended up writing was a bit about cooking for Thanksgiving. I was seeing this girl at the time and we’d made green bean casserole for her family. It was a total mess. I described it like that. When I first wrote the memoir, it was supposed to be funny. Charming. I was giddy. In puppy-love. Well, after Thanksgiving, that girl up and vanished from my life – no word, no letters, stopped returning my calls. Needless to say, my mood had changed. I re-wrote the memoir halfway between ‘The Stranger’ and ‘Edgar Allan Poe.’ But I kept the comedy. Can’t amount to much of anything if you can’t laugh at yourself.

Looking back, I think that green bean casserole was the start of everything: years and years of writing, a few publications, this endless damn blog. (oops, I meant memoir). Life’s a strange dish. Messy. To be honest, I’ve always hated green beans.

Novel Count: 30,740

Currently Reading: The Sense of an Ending, Julian Barnes

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I think I deserve something beautiful.

Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat Pray Love

Coffee Log, Day 342


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