One cup of coffee. Just one. You don’t need to drink anymore, Nikki. One is more than enough.
No matter how often I tell myself this, I still find myself with an empty pot beside me, and weird jittery energy that I don’t want or need. One cup of coffee is just right sitting next to the pile of greens and scrambled neighbor-chicken eggs and toast on my breakfast plate. Just one. So far so good. Today, I think, will be a good day, even if it is raining.
It has reached that dangerous time of year when you can’t come inside without tracking mud all over the place, and you can’t really go outside without a coat, but well actually maybe you could, so you do and one last head cold lurks in your lack of caution.
Although I prefer snow to rain when it’s cold, this rain is welcome, because this rain heralds the coming spring. I can barely wrap my head around the idea that next month I can start planting things in the green house. Every year I find myself shocked that spring really will come again.
This afternoon with my little pink umbrella I will brave the city in the rain because I need to buy a new pair of pants. Yes, buy. Why? Because next week I am starting a job where I actually have to show up at an office twice a week, and I do not own a single pair of pants not patched and/or ripped in several inconvenient places. I think you can probably patch pants in a way that would make them acceptable in an office, but I tend to prefer the obviously patched with the pretty hand screen-printed something-or-other from that band that played here last week/artist friend.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that my new employers didn’t seem to mind the pink dreads, so I figure the least I can do is scrape a little of the crust off for those two days a week. As of next week I’ll be the editor man for the website I’ve been blogging for for the last year or two (this one). Indeed.
I have mixed feelings about starting a not-from-home job, but curiosity got me in the end, curiosity and the scent of a new challenge. That and the price of plane tickets that I would very much like to buy for Banjo and I’s epic trip stateside next fall, and for the wedding-celebration I so very much would like to be at in July even though buying so many sets of plane tickets goes against all good reason.
For now, however, I must leave you: the kitchen is unheated, my breakfast plate is empty, my fingers are going numb, and I can’t find my fingerless gloves.