Cream? Sugar?
I forget how you take it.
Every now and then (translation: regularly), I catch myself in an act of forgetfulness. Just now, for example, I caught myself filling the kettle to make coffee — but the kettle was only empty because I’d just made coffee.
Then, my interior monologue kicks in. That wasn’t really forgetfulness because I was thinking about something else, and anyway, forgetfulness is part of getting older — and I’m not really old because…
I listen to this while I’m filling the kettle, and then I make coffee.
Again.
I wrote once about wanting an interior monologue. Then I got one, and I’m not so sure. That ache in my arm is just an ache, not a dread disease, and that headache is just a headache. At least I’m past early-onset anything … why is the kettle boiling? Of course — I’m making coffee.
What I need now is a social life. A group of close friends, living nearby.
People I can call at 7am and invite round to drink all the coffee I make.
Oh — excuse me. People at the door. I can hear them talking.
Who would be ringing on my doorbell at 7am?
