Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 242

Hi.

Coffee: Americano, Cocoa Cinnamon; I’ve been coming to this downtown Durham coffee shop for many years; it’s a square building, a box, brick walls, small enough to fit in an unoccupied plot of parking lot, but looks bigger inside, always crowded, smelling chocolate, thrifty furniture; I bought the coffee from a woman who was a foot shorter than me and had her hands full at the register; I tipped two dollars; the espresso had a bright kick, almost too bright, like grabbing orange juice that turns out to be Sunny D, then it mellowed, and tasted like black beans.

I’ve been lacking words lately. And now it’s 11pm on a Sunday and I’m flustered trying to dig them out. I’ve opened books, checked the hamper, cut open the mattress. I’ve picked and prodded the carpet. But the words are somewhere else.

It’s not that I don’t have a lot to talk about. It was a full day, driving back and forth to Durham, walking along a lakeside, watching a kid go up and down a reticulated slide on a playground. Rain in the morning like ‘what are you waiting for?’ and long pauses with people I don’t mind sharing a silence with. But that’s just it – the words went with me out the door this morning and dropped off in all the spots I was passing. Now it’s late, dark, no turning around to retrieve them. Maybe tomorrow. Or sometime soon.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got tonight.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

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

Don’t gobblefunk around with words.

Roald Dahl, The BFG

Coffee Log, Day 103

Hi.

Coffee: Two cups drip from Cocoa Cinnamon; One cup Iced from Joe Van Gogh; the first two were better.

It was a long day. Distracting, like one of those stinkbugs that climbs your wall and looks like the paintjob until you really focus.

It wasn’t easy and I don’t have much energy.

When I was seventeen, my dog Becky was taken to the vet in the morning for pains that ultimately killed her. The same day, I stopped at a gas station on the way to work. There was a woman on the ground. She was crying. Bleeding from her face where she’d hit the curb. The couple passers-by told me that a man had run up, hit her hard, and run off. They didn’t know why he did it. She didn’t either.

I got the gas and drove to school.

Currently Reading:
Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

The Way of Kings, Brandon Sanderson

Fund the Coffee Log 🙂 – https://ko-fi.com/livesaywriting

“If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and man.” – Mark Twain

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