Quite a personal post two days ago. I guess the sadness sometimes makes it hard to keep it to myself. Here comes another one:
I never made it the full 48 hours of computer hiatus, I checked my email at school and inevitably booted up my computer to show my brother and his wife a video because my Xbox refuses to play VCD’s, (I guess Microsoft is worried about copyright violations, even though the one in question is of me free-flying in Malaysia). But disconnecting (for the most part) from my computer did help. I cleaned up my house and completed a boatload of errands. I’ve even had time to start reading “Middlesex”, which is a facinating book and the respite has allowed me to hit it hard.
My jet lag is slowly but surely leaving. The nap I took on Monday started at 11am and lasted seven hours. Yesterday I laid my head down around 3:30pm and got up at 5:00pm; my naps are getting shorter and once again I’m sleeping through the night.
I went to Starbucks yesterday and ordered a Mocha Tall. It’s not the first one I’ve ever had, but it marked the first time that I’ve ever ordered coffee (or a half coffee half chocolate anyway) when no one else was around saying, “hey you wanna get some Starbucks?”. I’ve never had any reason to drink coffee. I’ve never particularly liked the taste of it either, though the smell has started to grow on me. I find it empowering to try something new and to really decide on my own if drinking the occasional coffee is something that I like.
You may be reading this and thinking to yourself, “What a complete weirdo, he’s acting as if drinking coffee is some kind of crime.” I should mention that for me consuming coffee has always appeared as a horrible mortal sin, the first step in a hand-basket down the road paved with good intentions. As one of my favorite bloggers explains:
“My parents raised me Mormon, and I grew up believing that the Mormon Church was true. In fact, I never had a cup of coffee until I was 23-years-old. I had pre-marital sex for the first time at age 22, but BY GOD I waited an extra year for the coffee. There had better be a special place in heaven for me.”
Outside the Starbucks a disheveled blonde man with a mullet approached me. His golden coloured hair was long and oily, he had what appeared to be the fresh swelling of a severe beating, gauze over his left eye, and half a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
“Do you have a light?”
“No, sorry — well actually I have the cigarette lighter from my car.”
“Thanks man, I just got out of jail.”
“What were you doing in jail?” I was pretty sure from the 20 fresh stitches on his hung-over face that he had not been there long.
He explained, “I fell asleep in the park and I woke up to somebody kicking me in the face.”
“Then how did you end up in jail?”
“I don’t know. They said I was drunk.” I guess that was all he needed to say.
I gave him his light and a couple bucks in change — so he could at least catch the bus. I figured if I could jeopardize my soul with a $3 mocha the least I could do was counter balance it with a little charity. If there is a heaven, I hope there’s a special place for me too.
