At five minutes past 11, I fill the kettle with water and turn it on. While it rumbles, I heap out a spoonful of instant coffee into a mug. Of course I decide that’s not enough, so I add half a spoonful more, and three tablespoons of sugar. The water is finally boiling , so I pour.
I adjust a coaster and go on to ignore the cup for twenty minutes.
By the time I get to it, it’s perfection. The sides of mug warm my palms. The liquid comes in a delicious thickness but it doesn’t scald; coffee becomes my heaven and I bang on my keyboard like I am Tokio Myers and my Dell is a Yamaha.
Writing is like building though. The final product is always etched in your mind, it’s the steps to get there that can be tricky. This one night is proving too hectic for my inner builder. I feel like a sculptor with a pile of clay that’s bent on misbehaving . It’s time to take a hike.
I shut down the laptop and lay still. Only, I can’t lay still.
The coffee is finally kicking in. My body feels like a marathon that’s slowly turning into short distance. I feel like I am in a chase. Something is running after me, I have no idea what so I can’t tell you if it’s bigger than me… (like an Ocean?)
I want to run. To jump onto the highway and leave the soles of my feet on tarmac. If I give it enough thought, I know I might do just that and sunrise might find me unleashing my inner lizard on a beach.
My insides are animated. It’s getting hot. Were I Sean Paul, I’d perhaps tell you I can shelter you from a storm. But I am not that corny… or high on the good stuff. So I take out my phone and mess around with the keyboard until all of this turns into a wave and it crushes at my feet. My heart is home and for a while, so is my sanity.
I can hear the highway now, it’s a murmur of speed. I’ve shut my eyes to my imagination of light but my mind stays open and in it, I am stuck with an image of this sad mop I saw at the GoDown the other day.
Now I really want to bask but I have flipped my pillow and the coolness is an embrace I cannot fathom walking away from.
It’s twenty after two and not all dreams call for open eyes. I am out.