Chapter #?
(writing note – musings of the day…stories…thoughts…reality meets fiction…)
She reached to simultaneously grab her phone and the “Frenchie” cup abruptly thrust at her sleepy face. Sitting up awkwardly, Catrina gulped the hot coffee in waves, slurping up the foam, and licking it off her sunburned lip. She snorted loudly and chuckled with the grace of a mischievous toddler coming up for air in the surf. Momentarily confused, she asked herself “Was that me? Or was that infectious sound coming from the news app I unconsciously opened?”
Cat rarely laughed out loud anymore, or snorted for that matter. Her reactions to life were on auto play like her passive enjoyment of warm coffee offered each morning, reinforcing the Groundhog Day experience. The almond milk and honey coffee conjured bittersweet memories and also the need for bitter revenge. That part was welcome —the milk and honey, —not the revenge. Better than despair though. This morning she would take that.
The summer sun had risen too early again according to her Apple watch, awakening the sleeping dragon that had ransacked her life. No, that unwelcome comparison was just in her head. The smelly, fire-breathing dragon next to her was her geriatric cat, Mila, loudly demanding attention she neither desired nor would accept. Much like me, Cat thought —such an ungrateful bitch. She pushed away the feline, peered again into the now half-empty coffee cup and let out an overly loud sigh. Regrets all the way around. Coffee and life shouldn’t suck. Neither should cats.
Catrina knew her sighing had the whine of a defeatist’s exhale. It soured on its way out, a downright passive-aggressive grunt. It said, “I know how to exhale appropriately, but instead of owning this really awesome exhale, trumpeting in a change to this fucking weather, I’m just gonna sigh —a pitiful, minuscule grunt of a sigh to let you know I’m still here but I just don’t have the guts to do anything about it today. So there!”
The onslaught of bad news continued in a monotone voice from the app on Cat’s phone, washing over her like perpetual dark coffee, wave after wave, a mix of nausea from an empty stomach and regret for an empty life. She steeled herself to the inevitable interaction waiting for her, diving again into the murky water of societal despair and personal disappointment only the news could afford her as an excuse.
Today would be just like yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that…every morning the same realization. As far back as she could remember now —only the moment of drowning, gasping for air. The only visual in her mind —the blistering, unforgiving sun and the muddy darkness of the coffee grounds as she washed up on shore.
“How’s your coffee?”
“Fine, thanks.” It was going to be a long day…
Cindi Jobe
Repertoire Art & Design Studio
