Coffee: Folger’s Something-or-Other, brewed in a 12 cup office pot anonymously; it was wet and grey outside so coming in to coffee was a good way to start the morning; the brew tasted like those chips you stick in a hedgehog’s terrarium; it had a bitter aftertaste; but I loved it all the same.
I’m on a quick lunch at home. I had leftovers from my weekend stir-fry. I made that meal in December, now it’s January. A rice-bowl bridge between two years. It’s really hitting home that it’s 2019.
I don’t know my plans for this year. I’d had 2018 all mapped out but ended up with a lot of detours. So maybe it’s just as well that I’m not too busy planning.
I think we spend a lot of our lives coasting. There are these invisible highways – work schedules, curriculums, diet plans, there’s this fear of slipping off the road, of going too fast or too slow, of getting ticketed for not following the line. A lot of good can come from coasting – it often gets you somewhere. But it’s just as easy to veer off route and the penalty is rarely what you expect.
A few years ago, I was on a skype call talking about chocolates with a friend. They came in these silly wrappers with ‘inspirational’ quotes on the inside. It was raining. Throughout the conversation, I kept hearing that rain. So at one point I asked her to hold and I got up and walked out into the yard. I didn’t bring an umbrella, didn’t bring a jacket. I got soaked. When I came back, she laughed at me. She asked me why I’d done something so ridiculous. Try as I might, I couldn’t find a clear answer. Eventually, I realized I’d done it mostly because it was ridiculous. And that I needed to remember some ability to surprise myself.
Novel Count: 10,810
Currently Reading: Killing Commendatore, Haruki Murakami
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The line of traffic advancing towards the rising sun looked like a procession of the returning dead. Every one of them, solitaries in clean shirts, smoking, checking mirrors to see if their reflections were still there, wore dark glasses.Iain Sinclair, London Orbital