Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 247


Coffee: Cafe Pajaro Extra Dark, Trader Joe’s; coffee dark as squid ink; did you know that when a squid sprays it’s got to keep moving or it’ll suffocate? the most dangerous things were inside us all along; the coffee was good, burnt bread

I walked to a smoothie shop. E came with me. I wore my favorite sweater, it was only just cold enough. At the strip-mall, everyone was out and about. I looked in the windows of the supplement store. It used to be a candy store but there weren’t enough kids around.

At Juice Vibes, we ran into a neighbor. E went off to the farmer’s market with him so I walked home alone. It was sunny. The smoothie went straight to my brain. I used to drink smoothies every day between college classes. A place in the student center. I don’t know what’s there now, but they don’t serve smoothies.

There was this forest, a small one, behind Duke Chapel. It had two paths, both going to the science center. I took a few classes at the science center and would walk along the trails sipping all that fruit juice crushed and iced up. It was best in the winter when you were already cold because it gave you a good excuse – ‘this is fashionable, it’s hip, it’s in.’ You wanted your innards to match the outside. I got banana mango back then but today I went with pineapple.

These have been my days: tired out, up early, waiting for the season to change. Now it’s changing and I guess I’ve got to start working. New Years, flashing cameras, one more walk off the broad, dark pier. It’ll be better in 2020. Or maybe it won’t. But I have to believe it or I’ll be stuck drowning; squid ink.

Currently Reading: Another Country, James Baldwin

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Ink, a Drug.

Vladimir Nabokov, Bend Sinister

Coffee Log, Day 240


Coffee: Colombian, Starbucks Brand (grocery store bought, a gift)

I did laundry today and the dryer was clanking. When I checked, I found two buttons. I’ve now lost the button on three pairs of pants, all within the last week. I guess I’m haunted. My ghost’s a tailor, but a bad one.

It’s been a slow day. I’m not complaining. I woke up early with an awful stomach ache. The kind where you’re sweating, rocking, thinking about your loved ones because you’re sure this is gonna be the thing to finish you off. Dramatic stuff. After that, the day got better.

Up until an hour ago, we were locked in a chilly autumn drizzle. I spent the morning working on this and that, listening to instrumental music, watching clouds go by. I tried to print something at the office but the printer was out of toner. I spent a bit walking around, then got groceries, and on the way out of the grocery store the sky broke like a Halloween egging. I got caught in the downpour. It was cold. I was soaked. I liked it.

A few years ago, in midsummer, I walked out the back door of my parents house – I was still living there at the time – and into a thunderstorm. I had nowhere to be and nothing keeping me from the warm, dry indoors. I stepped off the porch and the storm hit like dumped butter. Even with the porchlight it was hard to see. I kept going. I made it to the back of the yard where an old swingset still stands. I held the wood and looked up until half an ocean was in my eye. I stood out there for five minutes then went back in and dried off. An hour later, I had a skype call with you. You asked what I’d been up to. I told it plain and simple.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked.

I thought about it and gave my only answer: “I didn’t want to forget what it feels like to be surprised.”

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

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“Do not be angry with the rain; it simply does not know how to fall upwards.” – Vladimir Nabokov