The coffee maker is a heavy breather. It huffs, it percolates. Its black plastic lid hat bubbles and taps before it lets out a final sigh. The dog rests his heavy head on the top of my foot. He’s bored – waiting to be fed. His breath is warm. He sighs too.
I messed up yesterday’s attempt at 52 words. I initially wrote it out on a word document so that I could get the word count, but forgot that I had eleven unrelated words already written on the page… so what I posted was only 41 words in length. I’ve gone back and added the 11 that were already there. They don’t quite fit the sentiment I was building, but the abrupt statement kinda works. Here’s the revision:
Tree black silhouettes haunt the morning fog. Day arrives slowly and I feel too hurried to see – my own fog, my own morning. A plane leaves the small airport just outside of town ripping the air, up and to my right. I don’t play chess, but I know when I’m in zugzwang.
I can see how trying to write 52 words every day from the dining room table might pose a challenge, and why Bonta’s morning porch series works. Outside on his porch, the world is always changing. The weather is different every day, the clouds look different, different animals scurry by. I’m afraid I could run out of subject matter from this spot (which is both absurd and part of the challenge… pay attention to everything). Here and now (at my dining room table), I’m experiencing that time of year when it’s dark at 5 am and still dark at 6 am. In the sliding glass door where I normally see the rising sun, I can only see the reflection of the light above me – everything else is dark. That probably should have been the start to a different day’s 52 words…. dammit.
This morning has been one in which I’ve had to fight to keep the work thoughts at bay. Budgets and projects creeping in at random times. I was in the office for about ten hours yesterday: accountant at 8:30, two-hour meeting that ran two-and-a-half hours at 4:00. I knew it would be a long day and hired a dog walker to come take the pooch out. He probably liked that – my dog doesn’t get to interact with many people other than me. I think if I made a bit more money, I’d consider having a dog walker swing by on most days… but when I do the math, it comes out to about $5k per year. While cheaper and requiring less supervision, being single and having a dog has its similarities to being a single parent. I can only be away for so long before needing a sitter. He is a lot like a toddler – big enough to knock things over and absolutely can’t take care of himself.
Already, it’s almost 6:30. The sky is just starting to light up, and it’s looking gray. I’m working from home today, so I have a little more time to my morning. Between the date (geez it’s September), and the gray, and the drop in temperatures, I’m acutely aware of another season coming on – which leads to another year – which… I can’t find the words to describe the feeling. It’s not anxiety and its not longing, but it is this feeling of time passing me by or like I’m missing out on adventures and with every season I have so little to show for it. No highlights, just another year gone by – nearly every day of which the coffee maker made the same sounds in the morning, heaved the same sighs, and I’m just starting to notice.