Saturday, February 23, 2008

a somewhat reluctant admission:

I think that I can admit that I'm addicted to coffee. For the longest time, I would drink a lot some days but none other days. Lately, I have at least four shots of espresso every day that I work (which is 6 out of 7) and when I woke up today, I had a headache.

So I made some coffee (coffee presses are the only way to go, by the way), and now I feel better.

Damn.
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What's in My Journal (by William Stafford)

Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean
things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand.
But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous
discards. Space for knickknacks, and for
Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beautify.
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected
anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind
that takes genius. Chasms in character.
Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above
a new grave. Pages you know exist
but you can't f ind them. Somebody's terribly
inevitable life story, maybe mine.