Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 241

Hi.

Coffee:  Americano, Caribou Coffee

I spent the last half-hour watching videos of sea creatures. I got started on an article about killer whales, how they hunt white sharks while eating only their livers, squeezing the organ out of the body through a small gash. It made me think: oh, animals can know God too.

My favorite fact was: ‘Ghost Pipefish stick in pairs.’ They’re relatives of seahorses, so imagine a seahorse stretched out and turned upside down. They float beside anemones or detritus. Their bodies are camouflaged with fronds. Poor swimmers, they stick to their cubbies, waiting for food to come along. But no matter how many times the divers filmed them, or rooted around for another specimen, there were always two of them, together, paired, inseparable.

What a simple strange life to be a pipefish. I wonder what show they’re putting on for the camera crews, and what life is like for them behind the ocean’s closed doors.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

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Farther out beyond the reef, where the coral gives way to the true deep, at a certain time of day a tribe of flat silver fish gather in their thousands. To be there is to be surrounded by living shards of light. At a secret signal, all is chaos, a thousand mirrors shattering about him. Then the school speeds to sea and the boy is left in sedate water, a tug and pull of the body as comfortable as sitting in his father’s outspread sarong being sung to sleep.

Naoymi Munaweera, Island of a Thousand Mirrors

Coffee Log, Day 149

Hi.

Coffee: India Extra Bold Roast, Cafe Crema

I fished this DVD out of our dry creekbed, ‘8 count abs.’ I threw it in the trash because a fish with a six-pack just ain’t right.

The things we throw away… I’ve wasted lots of things. Some of it was junk, some precious. I’ve got this vivid memory of a high school romance who used to fall asleep on my leg. The show would end, sun came down, she’d still be sleeping and I’d get so antsy – like, if I didn’t move, I’d be watching roots grow out of me – that I’d squirm until she woke up. What a simple moment. The older I get, the more I miss the clean, simple moments.

I met a guy today I’ve heard bad stories about. They call him rough, loud, arrogant, mean, difficult. He was all those things but I think he was mostly trying hard to make up for something. He drove a brand new Acura and was trying to buy a house. He told me his parents had only ever rented.

I had a list of discounts when I got hired that I could opt in to. One was a sizeable credit off my insurance if I declared I wouldn’t be smoking. I didn’t check the box. I’ve only smoked four things in my life, all one-dollar cigarillos, and haven’t had one since winter. I don’t have any plans to smoke again. Still, checking away the freedom to burn something up inside me wasn’t worth the money. I need my lungs to remember what it’s like to tingle.

That last time I smoked, I’d just broken the handle off my favorite blue mug. We sat in the cold, arms on legs on arms, passing the cigarillo, dipping pink ash into the empty, broken blue.

Currently Reading: LaRose, Louise Erdrich

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“we
sat there
smoking
cigarettes
at
5
in the morning.” – Charles Bukowski, from when you wait for the dawn to crawl through the screen like a burglar to take your life away

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