Coffee Log, Day 280

Hi.

Coffee: Maxwell House Drip, single-serve packet; work coffee again; what can I say, it’s that kind of week.

Sometimes, life takes you to a Subway.

I imagine that one thing will survive the heat-death of the universe and that is the puffy, flaky, styrofoam rolls of ‘Italian’ bread they serve at the Subways. It’s marginally food. You eat it and are somehow left both full and hungry.

But that’s kind of the point: sometimes the only thing to do is start embalming yourself with cheap, sterile, questionable food. There are weeks where every time you stand, another thing knocks you down, so why not relent to it, give in, appreciate a numb, corporate fatigue deftly wrapped in bright colors?

I’d rather be drinking whiskey but even that is a little too lively for me now. Thank you, ma’am. Yes, I’ll take it with mustard.

Novel Count: 14,713 words

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

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The father was long and thin, with a red face framed in white whiskers, and looking like a living sandwich, a piece of ham carved like a face between two wads of hair. – Guy de Maupassant

Coffee Log, Day 138

Hi.

Coffee: Cafe Pajaro Extra Dark Roast, Trader Joe’s Brand

Last night, a Mosquito-Eater got trapped in my bedroom. She buzzed the windows mostly, sometimes my bed or pillows, sometimes the string lights. I don’t know how she got inside. I assumed she’d find her way out.

This morning, I didn’t see the Mosquito-Eater. In the strange, flexible valley of memory, I forgot I’d ever seen her. I ate breakfast, got dressed, went to work, came home, worked out, talked to a friend on the phone for a good long time, and took three walks around the apartments. When the busy things were done, I cooked dinner. Tonight I ate a sandwich with slices of fake turkey. I watched an episode of Planet Earth.

And she kept bumping, bumping, bumping into the window, right beside me, having been there even when I forgot about her. The Mosquito-Eater was still trapped. She looked weak – well, as weak as a spindly-legged monster can. I watched her struggle. I didn’t want to deal with the situation; it had been a long day; I was tired. On the TV, Marine lizards were diving off big rough rocks. They looked free. I put the sandwich down, grabbed a plastic cup and an old envelope, caught the Mosquito-Eater and gave her to the big outdoors.

It was a simple thing to do, after all.

Currently Reading: LaRose, Louise Erdrich

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“You do not respond to a mosquito bite with a hammer.” – Patrick L.O. Lumumba

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