2021-04-22

I’m wracking my mind in front of my computer screen, trying to convert thoughts into machinery. The logic is all there: I see what needs to happen, the shape the numbers need to take, but my translation is broken: I can’t get the computer to understand. That must mean I’m stupid. Or I’m tired. I’ll bet on the latter because I’d have to admit I’m fucked if it’s the first, and to reorient myself I’ll grab an evening coffee from the convenience store—an excuse to give up for a bit, to get out for a walk. I get all dressed, then notice that I have to piss just as I’m getting my shoes on. Undress, piss, re-dress, back to the door, put on some music, get outside.

Outside is good, even better than it was in the afternoon. What wind there was earlier is subdued, while the waning light is dull and warm. The city’s coming out of a spell of bad weather, so I see all sorts of people out on the grass or tracing sidewalks, enjoying this new, real spring we’ve got after a sudden snow squall buried the last one.

Then I’m at the convenience store. I know I’m grabbing a coffee, but I figure there must be something else I’m after. I scan the shelves of snacks four times over, torn on what I want and how much I can spend. On the fifth scan I spot it: a can of chili with beans. I’m taken back to the freshman year of my undergrad, of nights in the library eating microwaved chili over my laptop—same brand and all. A craving is dug up from my nostalgia, and I figure I won’t need anything else if I can get a whole meal from the can. Off the shelf, into my hand, then I’m off to the corner where my coffee waits. I deliberate on which size I’ll get: will I crash early if I buy a small? am I going to be up all night if I go for a large? I wriggle a medium-sized cup out from the weird nipple contraption plugged sideways underneath the coffee machines, then I check to make sure I’m not about to pour a decaf. A sign says I can get a chocolate bar for a dollar with my coffee, so I do. After that I pay and set my course for home.

There’s a necessary detour to keep myself from getting bored—I hate walking back the same way I came. It takes me to a park at the top of a hill. The climb up sends anxious pangs through me as I wonder if all the people nearby can hear my out-of-breath, out-of-shape huffing while I tread the stairs. Inhale, exhale, breathe deep, pretend it’s a sigh, avoid eye-contact while my lungs recover. I regain my confidence once I plant myself on a bench, just the right place to watch all the people and cars go by, with this big wide view of the lake way beyond. Now I can enjoy myself, sip my coffee in intervals, people-watch a little. My can of chili is seated next to me as I pop the lid off my coffee. I bring it up to my lips . . . it’s lukewarm, like black piss, hardly tasting of anything. This is what I left my apartment for, what I dropped my work to do, my expedient mission: to drink piss-warm coffee on a bench while all the world dances around me. I finish my coffee and fuck off. At least it was nice out. At least I got to see some people for a change.

Back home it’s me and my chili. Work is still lacking appeal, so I shun my computer. I can tell the cogs are still seized-up in the one little crevice of my brain that writes computer codes: I’m not going to be able to turn one goddamn thought into anything that works. I won’t bother until I feel it come up in me again, until the grinding, rattling sound of intelligence starts to murmur between my ears. I read a little, occasionally eyeing the can of sumptuous beef-and-beans left on my desk. Then the craving for food wins me over, so I speed to the kitchen and peel open the can, already stuffing a few cold spoonfuls of chili into my mouth. “This would be better hot” as I take another fill, before I transfer it to the microwave. A couple bouts of radiation, punctuated by stirring the bowl and wiping the spatterings out of the appliance, and I’ve got my chili done up for myself. Doused in hot sauce, I take it to my desk.

I eat, and I’m still dumb. Everything is starting to look like tomorrow’s problem. My computer whines in the corner. I brush my teeth and go to bed.