Sunday, September 6th, 2020

I set up my cold brew coffee pot, as usual, with one cup of grounds and four cups of water. I look at the brewing section. There’s room for about one more cup. I pour more water in. In the morning, I decant the coffee into the carafe. Bad move. While the brewer holds more, the carafe doesn’t. Coffee overflows onto the counter. Fortunately, I’m only a few inches from the sink. I let the rest flow into there. It’s not much of a loss. The cold brew is so strong that, when I drink it, I cut it by half with even more water. I clean up what spilled, pour the first cup into my mug more carefully than usual, and remind myself not to do that again. When I head out for work, my screen door hits an obstruction and gets stuck. One of the fallen fruit has gotten lodged in the grate at the bottom of the stairs, sticking up just enough to stop the door. I give the lower part of the door a sharp kick. It swings open, slicing the fruit in half. There’s probably a word for that move in Japanese. I take a bag of kitchen garbage out with me. Branches of a flowering tree block the door to where we keep the trash can. I duck under the branches and push them aside. When I get to work and look in the restroom mirror, I see that I’m wearing a randomized garland of small pink flowers in my hair. It’s as if I were going to San Francisco, but without the expense or the quarantine. I think about the flowers as I come in and sit down at my desk. I forget to say “Good morning” to my office mates. I quickly get up, get coffee in the kitchen, then circle around again. Done with the morning rituals, I settle down and finally start to work.