Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 257


Coffee:  Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee

A woman talked to me about carpets. Her father had been in the business. She told me how to cut them, where to trim, how to corner, what to do with rooms and halls. “High pile,” she said, “you have to be careful.” And I was already getting lost in it, like a bug sniffing through the fabric on all fours.

She also talked about Jordan Lake. Her father owned 120 acres of farmland before they flooded it. Prime Chatham, top dollar, in walks the Army Corp of Engineers, a booker, a paycheck, not a lot of options. “We could leave or we could learn to scuba, that’s what they told us.” Eminent domain and all that. Just a few weeks ago I had a picnic on the lakeside where we watched the late summer sink in.

They’re adding on to the Triangle Expressway, or trying to. The bills are up for legislation on account of environmental concerns, this or that endangered oyster. But like all slow moving bulls of government it’ll eventually charge, cutting up the land with buyouts, evicting 285 homes and businesses. A toll road, so you’ll pay for the freedom of driving over someone else’s memories.

The carpet in our apartment is crusty mustard. It’s bunched and fickle with how it lumps up or thins, and so you don’t think it’s all our fault most of the deformities were here before us. I’d call it medium pile. It stays the same color no matter what way you’re looking at it. They’ll strip it when we move.

Currently Reading: Another Country, James Baldwin

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Property breeds lawyers, I said, forbearing to add a belief that unfortunately property now seemed the only thing palpable enough to demand the respect of governments, and perhaps was the generating clout against encroachments on the spiritual protections for speech, assembly, and so on. It might turn out that without the right to possess we are not sure we really have the right to speak and to be.

Arthur Miller, Salesman in Beijing

Coffee Log, Day 202


Coffee: Sumatra Medium-Dark Roast, Trader Joe’s

I don’t know how bad the storm will be. Friday will tell me; the coast will know tonight.

I called my dad this morning. Right now, my parent’s house is projected to get it worse than me. As long as I’ve known them, my parents are prone to worry too little about the big things and too much about everything else. That swung my pendulum the other way, so now I’m a little too worried for them. Their arms and legs aren’t as strong as they used to be. That said, as long as I’ve known them, my parents have never been ones to underestimate.

Today’s sky was six-year-old blue: she has the pick of 64 crayons but settles for one color. It didn’t belie the turbulent weather; it was good cover to walk under. I watched white clouds idle. Mr. Cobwebs was chasing geese. I had to take off work today, woke up sick and tired from a night of bad dreams. Hazy, every needle in the pine trees seemed to be some other lonely raft floating away.

Once, many years ago, my apartment was robbed. They took everything, even cracked the door as a temptation for our two cats to escape. That evening, I threw up. We were staying at my partner’s family house. She helped me clean up the mess. It was such a kind, wonderful moment. Still, it had me certain that when the bandits broke our window on a hot August afternoon, they’d bagged up our future together with the TV’s and computers.

That is to say: I’m not scared of loss anymore.

I got some more water, some more bread, it’s just me and R in the apartment. I printed out some DnD campaigns, think I’ll run one if the power goes. When the sky’s dark and the ocean’s coming down on top of you, might as well enjoy the time.

Currently Reading: Autumn, Ali Smith

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“Talkin’ to myself my homies call me crazy
Livin’ by myself my mama say I’m lonely
Sleepin’ by myself my bitches think I’m lyin’
Listening to myself cause I’m my favorite artist
Depending on myself, the people call me mighty
Defending more than self, the people call me hero
I’m good within myself, the people say I’m humble
And I’m protecting myself trying to stay away from evil.” – Lil Wayne, Third Strike