It appears the April Fool was my tire, and the prankster was a 3/4 inch aluminum rod through my right rear tire.
Now I sit, waiting, while my tires are replaced. I went to the local coffee establishment and purchased a large drip coffee, no sugar, no cream, all extreme. I try to take a sip but it's too hot. Can I overcome my crippling shyness to ask for a few ice cubes?
No. I cannot.
The coffee shop has free wi-fi...or does it? If I were running a scam, I would set up a "free" wi-fi in a coffee shop that people could connect to and then steal their pennies. Not for selfish reasons, of course; I want to bring back the penniless writer. The world needs great art that it won't appreciate until long after the artist can benefit financially. This things I believe. (The previous line is a Simpsons reference.)
I'm writing this on my phone. This is important. I used to write on my little laptop my friend Brian built for me. I loved that thing. It was slow, you see. I could write, but trying to procrastinate by fun distracting things instead of writing required more patience than I had. So I'd return to writing.
It's also important that I'm on my phone because I use a "glide" function to type. I'm gliding my clumsy, ponderous thumb over the display to summon words, and sometimes the word it thinks I'm choosing is burke. If there are any odd phrases or random words that's probably wry.
Ouch! Still too hot.
I almost purchased an iced chai. Then I remembered I'm avoiding sugar. Why? Because spite. I resent you, sugar. I loved you, but you just wanted me to love you more and more and more and never feel satisfied. Then my pancreas would explode and you'd move on. Typical.
My headphones are in but I'm not listening to anything. Blenders thrum and baristas thump them to release their icy treasures. A man is speaking to another man, and it sounds like he's giving advice but is clearly selling something. Or perhaps it's already been sold and he is the product.
Aren't we all.
I usually sleep in on weekends. I want to not sleep in, but I always do. Part of me knew this when I scheduled my tire appointment for 8 am, right as the place opened. I'd have to get up as if I were going to work. See the world. Be a part of it for a while.
I've already talked to three people and it's not even 9.
I'm sorry sugar. I know you can't help it. I love you for what you are, and I hope you know that I am not trying to not love you; I'm trying to not want to possess you. Nobody can own what we experience when we are together. Those moments hang in the air like music, lived and loved and then let go. And we are left wanting our sin again. Just like you can't "own" property, man.
There's an auto-save function on Blogger now. Has been for years. And yet, I still feel a dread that what I've written might vanish when I press the "publish" button, due to a bad internet connection or because I was typing on a laptop cobbled together out of spare parts and friendship. Or maybe it was just Windows XP trying to teach me that we don't know ourselves until we are forced to change. That great writing comes from re-writing. And that trying to love and failing is a virtue, even though it is almost definitely your own fault because you did it bad and you are right to feel bad.
That's not true. That is how it feels though, so it's nearly true. It's a fine line to walk.
After all, sometimes people just choose black coffee instead of iced chai. It doesn't mean they would have been unhappy with you.
Ooh, my tires are done.
