Black Clouds and Flying Donkeys

Wow. I’ve been remiss. But, you know, some days you wake up and can’t feel your legs. And you would get up if you were smothered in Krispy Kreme donuts or if Coffee were calling your name in dulcet tones from the kitchen, “Come drink me! I am the love of your life, and I will keep you from killing someone today!”

But you wake up. And there are no Krispy Kreme donuts. And if you want coffee, you have to roll out of bed and make it yourself. And I’ve been deciding . . . for a very long time . . . that it’s not worth it.

Because if I roll out of bed and somehow stumble over to my french press, I will see it smile at me. And I will get excited about the prospect of coffee and not killing someone today, and I will make coffee. Strong coffee. And an electric buzz will travel at the speed of future possibility from my mouth to my brain to my feet, hitting all the hidden holes behind my nose but in front of my throat and pooling up in my toes. And for about two hours, I will want to be sitting in front of my computer or running to class or limping to the testing center or wobbling to the print shop. But after two hours I will run into a brick pillar in the middle of the covered sidewalk and realize that I need more coffee. Because that first cup is never enough.

And as the day wears on, I notice more holes in my pockets and less money in my wallet and the electric buzz buzzes less and less until I finally reach my bed at the bottom of the cliff. And I have just enough time to hug my pillow and realize that I didn’t kill someone today before I see a flying donkey.

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