I have doomed us all. It cannot be undone. Again. Continue reading morning coffee: Re-doing the Undoable
I have a routine every morning. I set my backpack in my desk chair, unpack it, set it under my desk, log on, clock in, and drink my morning coffee. Then I check my ticket queue and start working. This has been my daily exercise, with little variation, for over four months.
It was startling, then, to arrive at my desk this morning and see that I had already finished everything. Continue reading morning coffee: The Man at My Desk
I gave Bill a haircut today. Now he’s bigger than ever.
“Hello,” I said. “I bet you weren’t expecting to find me here.” I wasn’t. Continue reading morning coffee: What I Saw at the Bottom
How much time passes at the bottom of a lunch box? Minutes? Hours? None at all?
It’s raining outside, I think. I can’t tell. Continue reading morning coffee: The Window
The oak leaf I pinned to my cubicle wall has begun to root–without soil, water, or sunlight. Continue reading morning coffee: The Rootening
There’s something on my desk, and I didn’t put it there. Continue reading morning coffee: Miniature Shakespeare