Coffee Log, Day 229

Hi.

Coffee: Americano, Java Jive Cary; tasted like two dollars spent on losing lottery tickets.

It’s been a grey day and that’s a-okay with me. The sun came late this morning. It’s still stuck behind clouds.
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I’ve been having elaborate dreams. Two of them, Sunday and last night:
1) She’s wearing dark makeup. I’m uncomfortable, she leads me by the hand. We’re in a giant walk-in shower. She undresses. She’s got black tattoos up and down her arms. I like them. I can’t stop touching them.

2) It’s winter. I’m wearing four coats, no shirt. I’m in a mall parking lot, standing by the car. You walk by with your parents. I follow, get their attention. You’re wearing my shirt. We hug. I ask for the shirt back. You look disgusted, say: “Don’t you have anything more important to think about?” You walk away. The wind blows like birthday candles. I’m very cold.

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I bought lunch at a Subway from a woman with a cut on her hand. It was taped up but you could see the blood. I watched her work. She wore gloves. I kept looking at her finger. When she finished, I paid her and ate in the store. I had red onions on the sub. I took a few of them off. Red onions, white paper, cut blood glove.
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I’m traveling tonight, one city over, leaving soon. Night’s been coming quicker and lasting longer. Bad traffic; congestion. I’m a dot on the ant-line interstate. What dreams will all this give me?

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

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“There is nothing like a dream to create the future.” – Victor Hugo

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Coffee Log, Day 155

Hi.

Coffee: Americano, Java Jive; it was simple. I liked it.

Before work, I went to Java Jive Cary. The cafe’s about half way between my apartment and the bank branch. I hadn’t made coffee the night before, needed a pick-up. I left with enough time to get there, get a drink, sit down, read. I did it all. Everyone else who came by was over 50 and a regular.

I sat outside. Before noon, the city hadn’t heated up. The morning had that crisp sun, that yellow sun, that blue sun. A few cars were switching lanes. The brick building held shade over me.

I thought about the value of relaxation. I have a decent amount of free time, at least compared to some, but I fill that time like decanters at a wine festival. If I’m not working on an objective, I’m entertaining myself. If I’m not doing either, I’m restlessly bored.

At lunch, I walked to the Publix and bought a Granny Smith apple. I ate it outside by the trashcans. I made myself keep my phone in a pocket. I watched people rushing around. The air had thickened. We were all in molasses. The apple was bad in many spots, mealy in others, I ate it all anyway. Just a core, I held it close to my eyes – there’s the spot I bit you; there’s your brown dead flesh, the sinews I tore open; one spot was slick scarlet; I’d cut a gum.

On the way back to work, I ran into a woman who had been a regular at the Barnes and Noble Cafe in Burlington. She ordered coffee usually, mocha’s on good days, her name was the same as my coworker and they laughed about it. The woman recognized me and we talked. Eventually, I recognized her. She has a strange way of talking, like she’s tripping down a flight of stairs. Now she works at a spa. She told me I had nice eyebrows. I thanked her.

When I’m done writing this, I’m going to put some shorts on and take a walk. I can see the heat rising off our gazebo. Comfort isn’t everything. Neither is excitement. Deep blue sky: let me know you like the hands of my grandfathers, desperately working clay.

Currently Reading: LaRose, Louise Erdrich

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“It does good also to take walks out of doors, that our spirits may be raised and refreshed by the open air and fresh breeze: sometimes we gain strength by driving in a carriage, by travel, by change of air, or by social meals and a more generous allowance of wine.” – Seneca

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Coffee Log, Day 43

Hi.

Coffee: House Espresso from Java Jive, Cary; purchased with a tip from Andrew. Most Espresso falls into two categories – burnt, dirty, something to shoot in a latte and forget about, bottom-shelf vodka; or, overly ripe and sour. Java Jive’s doesn’t speak to either. It’s warm and dark. It’s comfortable. The light in your driveway after a long day at work. Thanks for the coffee, Andrew.

I used to date a girl from Cary. She grew up here, went to school here and as far as I know her father still haunts the southern suburbs. I was frantically in love with her and followed where she pointed. Java Jive was her favorite cafe growing up. We used to buy Thai Iced coffees there.

I remember one afternoon when my ex had some business to take care of and I didn’t have a car. She dropped me off at Java Jive and I sat in the courtyard of the brick strip mall trying to write. I was working on what I hoped would be a novel. The sun was out. It was hot. I had trouble finding shade and lawn bugs kept nagging me. I wrote a chapter and gave up. A few months later, I gave up on the novel.

This week, I’ve been having lots of writer’s block. It’s frustrating. Walking the grounds of Java Jive, I saw the scraps of pulled-teeth ideas sleeping in the bushes. They were mangy old dogs but sitting pretty comfortably. It was nice to remember them. I drove home.

Currently Reading:
Tar Baby, Toni Morrison

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“The fresh smell of coffee soon wafted through the apartment, the smell that separates night from day.” – Haruki Murakami, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and his Years of Pilgrimage

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