Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 174

Hi.

Coffee:  Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee

This blog’s changed a lot over the last two years – I don’t talk about coffee much anymore. Well, who are we kidding, I never talked that much about it to begin with. Since switching to a work routine brewing the same blend every day I have less connection to it. I don’t miss it all that often because life’s busy and you need free time to miss something. Some days, though, my hands feel ready to hold the old grinder and twist it, then empty when there’s no beans in the house to grind.

People change.

I grew up loving elaborate performances. I took every opportunity to present projects or act in plays at school. Then I got older and introverted for many years, only to end up making a living by performing – an office chair prop and a sales desk stage. Anyway, that was just an example.

I remember drinking frappe’s outside of Athens. The World Cup was on and Greece was playing. We ended up at the least crowded bar. I wasn’t drinking then, so I had them serve me coffee. It was late at night but you never sleep when you’re traveling. I watched the bartender draw someone’s draft. He worked black magic not to drop a bit of foam. Then he filled a cup with Nescafe instant and frothed it with ice and sugar. He looked like a streetlight when he was handing it to me – blinking on and off. Greece hadn’t scored a goal.

I make money to cover my responsibilities but sometimes I spend it on frivolous things. Life’s dry toast without the frivolous things. It’s a long weekend. I might have grown away from grinding coffee, but maybe I’ll find a cafe for a change.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

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There were some problems only coffee and ice cream could fix.

Amal El-Mohtar, Steam-Powered: Lesbian Steampunk Stories

Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 165

Hi.

Coffee:  Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee

All of us thought there’d be a storm. We heard it on the weather; common gossip on customer’s lips. And for a while it looked like the sky would crack like torn-up asphalt, but in the end the clouds cleared.

Every so often I go back to Greece. Not physically, of course. We got caught in showers coming down Mt. Olympus. They slicked up the ice toward the top and made it run. I wonder if that ice is still up there? The world’s a lot warmer than it used to be.

I walked by our apartment pool and it was full of people sun-bathing. Or drowning the week’s worries under five feet of water. They looked like skinned fishes in a Saturday market. They had pocks on their backs and matted hair. One family had a dog.

I like the sound a storm makes just before it arrives. The whip of air. Frantic quiet.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

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Older Fags and Younger Fags, Like Legally Young. Daddies. Zeus and Ganymede.
Ganymede was a child, Ziggy schooled her.
Yeah, You Were There, Michelle retorted, On Mount Olympus. You Were Working the Door. You Carded Ganymede.

Michelle Tea, Black Wave

Coffee Log, Day 271

Hi.

Coffee Tea: Earl Grey, Bigelow; I went to the grocery store and tried to buy coffee filters but they only had cone filters and my machine’s got a basket; so today I’m drinking tea.

I described someone as being like ‘black tea in the winter’ and then I forgot I’d ever said that. Later, we got together; now, we aren’t together and I finally remember what I meant by describing someone as being like ‘black tea in the winter.’

I got lost just once in Heraklion, Crete. It was the second night there but it felt like my plane had just landed. On approach, ground winds had picked us off the runway. We did three passes of the island, the wings going haywire, the cabin shaking around. I have a knack for bumpy flights.

Anyway, myself and two other guys were exploring. It was late. We were all a little jet-lagged. The city is a grove of brown buildings by the sea. At night, when the lights come on, it’s like you’re only seeing half of things, but the half you’re seeing is the one that matters.

We walked to the coast and back up again. It was on the way back that we got lost. The roads kept their angles from us the first time. New twists and turns. Suddenly, you’re a bird in a tree whose branches you don’t remember.

There was a cafe in the dark. Two roads split around it like feuding lovers. The front was glass. The walls were painted red and white. Two ladies kept the place, owner and daughter. They spoke English because the daughter studied in America. Lost on across the ocean, ages removed from home, we talked to the women and got directions. Then we talked some more over pastries and wine.

There’s a deep sadness in finding out where you’re going. But that moment when you’re just on the other side – surprised, relieved, full to overflowing – that’s a good feeling.

Novel Count: 10,795 words

Currently Reading: Autumn, Ali Smith; Cherry, Nico Walker

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You have everything but one thing: madness.  A man needs a little madness or else – he never dares cut the rope and be free.

Nikos Kazantzakis