Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 141

Hi.

Coffee: Pike Place, Apartment Lounge Blend

I sat all day in a stupor like a brown cat curled up, or a cooked shrimp, head and legs missing, a pink glaze, dreamy.

I know why I’m tired:

Last night, L was over, and he’d been having a rough week at work so we stayed out until midnight, eyes pried off the covers, pretending to be real people doing real things, but other people than the ones we usually are. By the time he’d gone and I’d gotten my head fitted to the pillow, it was closing on 1 am. I’m almost 30 – my body doesn’t do well with late nights anymore.

But there’s also the Lexapro – I’ve been taking it in the evenings because it makes me drowsy, but the drowsy hangs over in the morning. I wear it. The drug doesn’t have me in hot sweats like the bupropion but I can’t tell yet if the fatigue is worth it. Everyday becomes a Monday, sludgy, a heavy backpack, the ominous dinging of a new work-week. Maybe I’ll get used to it. Always optimistic.

Right now, the sky’s chicken-vein blue. There’s a full moon, or close to it. A good time to go to sleep.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

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The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night.

Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance

Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 133

Hi.

Coffee: Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee

I almost forgot to post this today. I woke up early and went to work. I came home and crashed. I spent most of my hours in an almost stupor. Here and there, our temporary puppy nibbled at my toes to wake me up.

The most beautiful thing about today was wading through the scraps of 4th of July fervor. I talked to a guy who’d just come back from Europe. I talked to a number of people who’d taken burgers to grill on the beach. There’s an anxious look to people who’ve gotten off vacation. Their eyes are trying to find any cool pillow and soft mattress, a couch and two hours of serial dramas, the privacy of their own bed. They’ve had their great crusades into the wider world and come back a little bloodied, no matter how much fun they’ve had. For the first time since this same vacation last year, they feel comfortable doing nothing, having seen the world, tried it on, and found it doesn’t fit as perfectly as they were expecting.

I didn’t go anywhere for the 4th. I haven’t taken a vacation. In fact, I’ve mostly been working. But I still want to feel like all those vacationers coming home. So, that’s where I’ll end it – goodnight.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

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When people went on vacation, they shed their home skins, thought they could be a new person.

Aimee Friedman, Sea Change

Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 118

Hi.

Coffee: Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee

The week ended like popping a blood blister. All the viscous stress of five frazzled days came oozing out.

I came home to a lack of appetite and sudden fever. Likely not a real fever but the heat built up in exasperated muscles. I immediately lay down and have been stuck horizontal ever since.

But at least it’s over. The worst weeks feel best on a Saturday, a good workout, or a stew after twenty four hours in the pressure cooker.

Anyhow, for now, I’m beat. This is me signing off. See you on a brighter morning.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

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Daily dawns another day;
I must up, to make my way.
Though I dress and drink and eat,
Move my fingers and my feet,
Learn a little, here and there,
Weep and laugh and sweat and swear,
Hear a song, or watch a stage,
Leave some words upon a page,
Claim a foe, or hail a friend-
Bed awaits me at the end.

Dorothy Parker

Coffee Log, Day 250

Hi.

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

Long day. Worked eight hours. Came home, didn’t work out, but should have. I ate Taco Bell. The cheese was orange and got stuck to the wrappers and now I smell like a flea market. Messy. It was what I wanted.

I’m trying to make moves – career, personal, artistic, etc. I’m always making moves. In college, I thought I’d major in biochem. When that got old, I majored in philosophy. When that got old, I fell in love and took school less seriously. When that got old, I quit my job and moved and failed for a few years until I understood myself.

‘Restless’ would be a word to describe me. ‘Ambitious,’ if you’re generous. But anyway, long day, worked and ate and worked some more. There’s a half-empty bottle of wine from a week-and-a-half ago on my kitchen counter; it’s sour, but drinkable. Me and that wine have a lot in common.

This is all I’ve got tonight.

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

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“I am somewhat exhausted; I wonder how a battery feels when it pours electricity into a non-conductor?” – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventure of the Dying Detective

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Coffee Log, Day 230

Hi.

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

All eyes on the sky as a second Hurricane mumbles toward North Carolina. We’re not getting the brunt of it. Florida’s uprooted. Still, our ground’s so wet that any rain will be like more wine in Aunt Marilyn’s glass and we all know she’s a lush.

Haruki Murakami’s new book is out. I’ll buy it soon. I’ve been excited to read it but then I saw a note on Variety saying it’s got a central fascination with an elder businessman’s feverish pursuit of a 13-yr-old girl. I’m tired of books about men chasing women. I wrote a book about a man chasing a woman, though it was also about how often art becomes about a man chasing a woman. The whole mess scares me. What space is left for love when you’re breakneaking towards Midas’s touch, turning people into golden objects?

I cooked dinner. The onions were glassy, perfect. I’m so damn proud of myself. There’s enough for five people. I’ll end up eating the whole meal myself, spread over a few days.

My roommate’s filled the house with company. I’m a hair-raised badger spitting dirt from his hole. That is to say, I’ve got the door locked and I’m playing music. A perfectly contained room. I’m not a curmudgeon. Well, not usually. But I’ve never known how to handle a room full of people I half-know. I’m happy they’re happy. Now shove off as I dig this loam.

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

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“Step aside? I step aside for nobeast, whether it be a hallowed hedgehog, an officious otter, a seasoned squirrel, a mutterin’ mole or a befuddled badger!” – Brian Jacques, Taggerung

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Coffee Log, Day 173

Hi.

Coffee: Cafe Pajaro, Extra Dark Roast, Trader Joe’s Brand; ever wake up in August thinking it’s April? Well, you know, cycles and stuff. Anyway, the coffee was okay, just like every other time.

My fan died last night. It was pretty neat to look at. A floor model, the wires ran through the base, when I pushed the buttons I saw sparks inside the plastic.

It was less neat trying to sleep. I’m used to the airflow, the sound. Quiet rooms are penetrable. Yesterday, I heard: my roommate shouting at a game; summer rain; thunder; a cat – either Mr. Cobwebs or Sally – crying outside my window at 4:00 a.m. I kept waking up. I had strange dreams: a furry black monster with claws the length of toddlers; my elementary school, mini-me’s in each seat, friends I hadn’t met yet.

Afternoon’s hanging on longer than I’d like. My eyes are ships that can’t drop anchor. Happy Monday. I’m off to bed…

Currently Reading: LaRose, Louise Erdrich

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“There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.” – Homer, The Odyssey

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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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