Day in and day out, your coffee says the same things–in varying tones.

At Birch, it studies me awhile, sizing me up–scrutinizing my clothes, looking for my jawline, parading its own intelligence and mirth, like weapons against my barbershop quartet of a face.

At Dunkin Donuts, I am worker among workers–a Joe who is being served a cup of Joe. My calluses exchange glances with the hairnets and jelly-filled pastries.

At Java Jupiters, the barrista makes small talk–which of course, in my head, I turn into big talk. As a flirt-mechanism I mention New Orleans. He says it’s on his bucket list. I end the transaction, by rasing my coffee with cream, with “You’ll love it there.”

But in all of this I am tone deaf, for in any of those places, I am the one paying. So I do have some say. Don’t I? I want to believe I do.

By the time you’ve caught up with something, it no longer holds interest. A moving target keeps you sharp–it keeps you engaged and moving.

Chasing after things is good and you’ll notice their good because they aren’t miles away, just a few blocks away. You can always rest or pace yourself, and you can even sleep on it. Your object of desire will still be there, in the morning, beckoning.

Sometimes, when you aren’t looking for it, it lands right in your hand, in October, as the leaves change and start to fall. In those instances you feel blessed. But face it: you are only interested for so long. Like finding shells on a beach. Un-hard won victories are your opportunities for rest, in preparation for those bigger chases.

I love how earlier this week, I didn’t want to work from home today because the exterminator was coming to my house today–and then I’m thinking what about me? I was thinking, earlier this week, of how I just didn’t want to deal with him–but what if I just listened to him–if I just paid attention. Why pay attention? Because I don’t have a choice. I could leave or pretend or really just stand on my head in a hundred different ways to ignore him–but it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Just listen to him.

I just discovered him this weekend, like all things I went kicking and screaming. I had preconceived notions about him. I heard about the scene in his movie, with the dog poop.

And here’s the thing. I’ve never seen one of his movies. But I’m splashing around in John Waters Pool. He invites you and to do whatever floats your boat.

I love you John.

Thank you.

…is wanting to tell people what you’re interested in. Even when you sure they won’t be interested. And I’m talking about your close friends.

You want to send them:

1. John Waters being interviewed
2. Pink Fairy shopping, cooking and eating.
3. Your own stories
4. Your deepest thoughts

Instead you send them:

1. Nothing.
2. “How are you?”
3. “Thank you so much!”

Last week, when I was out with Binda, I ordered a square pizza. It was quite by accident. We’d swept into one of those dollar pizza places on the Upper West Side.  When I see too a variety of anything, I get decision paralysis. So I just the chose pizza that looked different. The square on.

No, this isn’t a call to “Do Something Different.” Fuck that.

But it just made things easier, choosing the thing that looked different…and yet recognizable. And then I remembered the pizza we ate in grade school. It was always square and yucky. And then I thought of all the mostly yucky food I ate in school. And then how I was admonished for using the word yucky instead of politely saying “I don’t care for (fill in the food item).”

Man, all this from a pizza square on the Upper West Side. This is your fault, Binda. You bring out the kid in me. I don’t care for that. Just kidding. I enjoyed my current square of pizza. I will choose it more often. Not to be different. But just to be easy.

Everyone goes around thinking that it won’t happen. But they know it will. They see it all around and they know that it will happen to them. But they just don’t think about. I think it about more than I should.

Pastries.

Unavoidable.

Dayum

Burgeoning of air, that grips a certain place inside you. This region says Yes, Yes, Yes. It isn’t far from the place that says No. A pool develops between the two, a lake so shallow and muddy that–why call it a lake? It’s a puddle of mud. The good thing is you won’t drown, when you cross it. You’ll get dirty but you won’t drown.

Why Us, Lidia?

Here are your reasons:

1. God said so.
2. I said so.
3. It’s best for you.
4. I no longer dye my hair.
5. I was in a car accident that changed everything.

Okay. I’ll buy that.

There is something heart-wrenching about eating pizza with your family. It’s sad enough to have a crush on your pastor. And “your’ is a tangled enough possessor but mostly it can mean nothing. Like your typical teenager, which I don’t think I was, except for the crush part.

We prayed over our pizza, right there in Pizza Hut, on Highway 9, i.e. said Grace, i.e. I listened to Pastor Glenn give thanks for our Pizza, in which he also mentioned me, to God, that I might find members of the opposite sex attractive.

Amen.