Hi.
Coffee: Corporate Office Medium Roast; the coffee came in a carafe that sat on a hot plate, just like you’d have at an anonymous diner; the executives pointed us to the pot before our regional meeting; the pot was in a different room; so we filtered in, one by one, pouring styrofoam cups, adding cream or sugar or nothing, careful not to spill on our nice clothes, our long dresses, our suits; during the meeting, we sipped quiet enough not to interrupt the important speakers, but not so quiet that they wouldn’t notice us, showing our gratitude for this opportunity in measured slurps; I finished one cup and it was weak; I wanted another, but never found the chance to get up and pour; the coffee was like old water, something with stories, but ones you probably don’t want to hear
Last night, I went to bed early. It was nine and I was tired, I missed writing the Coffee Log. I’ve been missing the Log off and on lately and at first that bothered me. Writing this post every day was a way to center myself, and more importantly it was a commitment I’d bound myself to, and what are we but our commitments? Things change, though, life’s given me a different set of focuses and responsibilities, and I’m trying to be gentler with myself when I miss a beat here or there. I’m saying this for me, really, to understand my own motivations, but you’ve tagged along for two years now and so I figured I’d key you in.
Anyway, last night, I went to bed early, but I woke up early too. It was 3:30. I’d set my clock for 6:00. The night outside was smoky, my legs ached, my head felt sore. More than anything there were rough-edged dreams to keep me up. I was in a landfill, blue and white trash-flowers, plastic bags, the ground around me filling up. Then I was lost in one of those abandoned factories that are becoming the gray hairs of America, wandering in circles and up and down Escher steps. Those kind of dreams. And once I’d woken up from them, I didn’t have the heart to go back.
I spent the day listening to the impeachment proceedings. Some days I think our whole country is having nightmares, losing sleep. We aren’t thinking straight, and when we open our mouths its surprisingly hard to talk to one another.
Currently Reading: Another Country, James Baldwin
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“There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.”
Homer, The Odyssey
Livesay Writing 