Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 231


Coffee:  Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee

Part of my job is making people think hard about how they’d like to die, and what they’d like to happen after. If you’re going to help someone look at their whole financial picture, you can’t help using a wide-angle lens.

Everyone’s got a different comfort level. Often, I’m the most uncomfortable one in the room. I’ve met old men who tell me they can’t wait to kick the bucket, and young guys who say death isn’t even a thing. I work with one 93 year-old on the regular, updating beneficiaries, getting everything straight. She’s told me she doesn’t particularly want to die, doesn’t expect it’ll happen any time soon, but figures she might as well get things ready for when it comes to introduce itself. Right now, she’s giving full-time care to her younger sister who’s suffering cancer.

I had an old man in my office today. He can’t hear well so I was shouting. He’s a nice guy, very friendly, everyone knows him. I asked how everything was going. He said it was going fine. I went through his accounts, made sure we were doing the best we could for him. We were. Then he said “I don’t know if it matters, though, because, you know, I might not get to next year.” And he wasn’t happy about it, he looked down. I told him that, if he wanted, I could help him with the planning, but that we didn’t have to, whatever made him comfortable. Then there was this moment, a long moment, and then we switched subjects. He talked about the first car he bought in the 1950’s, and how beautiful it was to drive.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

Support Relief for Family Suffering at the Border  – RAICES DONATION CAMPAIGN

Nobody owns life, but anyone who can pick up a frying pan owns death.

William S. Burroughs

Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 81


Coffee: Maxwell House Drip, Office Coffee

I’ve got a beautiful life. I’ve been thinking about love. Some people love me. There’s a cat I know, she says hello to me most days on my lunch breaks. There’s a man in California that got lost in NYC ten years ago and took me with him. I love some people too. For the most part, those two things line up.

I was at an open mic tonight. I didn’t read. From a corner seat, I listened. I had a beer. It wasn’t very good. I told a few people my name, people I’ve told before. I met a writer who writes about Durham. I told him I write about it too and he says it’s a screwy city. The bar, Fig, is in North-ish Raleigh. It’s tucked in a neighborhood. It’s beside a falafel place. Out back, a woman was teaching tricks to her dog.

There was this other bar I went to three times, The Wooden Nickel. It’s in Hillsborough. It’s screwy. It’s small. There’s not many tables. The third time I went there, I don’t remember much. I remember pouting. The second time I went there, I took pictures in the bathroom. The first time I went there, I fell in love.

I’ve got a beautiful life. I’ve been thinking about love. Some days it’s tap-water. Other days, it’s a well.

Currently Reading: Kitchen Confidential, Anthony Bourdain

Support Relief for Family Suffering at the Border  – RAICES DONATION CAMPAIGN

People in bars are always claiming to be boxers, hoping thereby to ward off attack, like a black snake will vibrate its tail in leaves and try to impersonate a rattlesnake.

William S. Burroughs, And the Hippos were Boiled in their Tanks