****
At the intersection of St. James and Demington this morning, I noticed a mess in the center of the street. I was right to think it was victim of vehicular carelessness, but my cautious approach (for who wants dead animal on their bike tires?) was unwarranted. I tentatively rolled past what turned out to be a roadkilled pizza box. Its wet and crumpled cardboard bled tomato sauce and soggy crust onto the asphalt.
****
I ambled around a grey Cleveland Heights this morning before landing at the Phoenix coffeehouse on Lee road for an Americano. Settling in to read short stories and write short lists, I became distracted by an uncommon figure in a cafe full of people seeking a casual Sunday espresso:
A woman is sitting at a table just several yards away, working with a legal pad and a tiny laptop on something seemingly professional...she takes her coffee with Sugar in the Raw. She is, in the manner of a Romanian supermodel, insanely beautiful. My only hope for salvaging my self esteem now, over my cold Americano and drizzle-damp shoes, is to hope that her perfect features were sculpted by some gifted surgeon; her straw-blonde hair expertly dyed.
I ambled around a grey Cleveland Heights this morning before landing at the Phoenix coffeehouse on Lee road for an Americano. Settling in to read short stories and write short lists, I became distracted by an uncommon figure in a cafe full of people seeking a casual Sunday espresso:
A woman is sitting at a table just several yards away, working with a legal pad and a tiny laptop on something seemingly professional...she takes her coffee with Sugar in the Raw. She is, in the manner of a Romanian supermodel, insanely beautiful. My only hope for salvaging my self esteem now, over my cold Americano and drizzle-damp shoes, is to hope that her perfect features were sculpted by some gifted surgeon; her straw-blonde hair expertly dyed.
****
School starts soon. I'm a couple years behind the academic 8-ball, but ultimately (and despite my frequent worries), I don't feel badly about not thinking about things like papers and problem sets. I think about things like perfecting muffin recipes and riding long distances just to see if I can. The fact that I don't hate that about myself is a good indicator that I'm more self-assured than I think. Still, when I'm very tired, I tend to rely too much, or strive too much, for the approval and appreciation of others, as though I need some validation to justify...or some recognition to remember...the fact that I'm alive.
psh! to be human!
psh! to be human!
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