Romaniacs, pt. 533: The coffee drinker
Rainy weather, and so I’ve decided to read A Wrinkle in Time. “It was a dark and stormy night.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Last night, after I wrote those lines, I promptly fell asleep. I’ve been falling asleep very early. The previous night, at around 9:30, I was on the living room floor playing with the cat, and I fell asleep.
At least I knew which day it was.
Cristian: “How nice to see you, John-Paul. Are we supposed to go out for coffee today?”
JP: “No, Cristian.”
Cristian: “When did we recently go out for coffee? Was it last week?”
JP: “It was yesterday, Cristian.”
Edoarda, Stephen’s gf, remarks that during her four years at Bethel she has watched Cristian become more presidential, i.e. more gray. I point out that this is due to his age, not to his lifestyle.
Even so.
Cristian pushes himself through life by drinking loads of coffee; maybe that’s why his emails tend to arrive at 3:00 in the morning. I couldn’t live that way. After my third or fourth cup I’d be a jittery wreck. On the other hand, I fall asleep whenever I try to grade papers.
As we share a French press, Cristian tells me of the habits of a certain well-loved metaphysician who didn’t have a lot of grading to do. “He used to read detective novels all morning, and then he would cheerfully write for a couple of hours; then his workday was over.” A hint of bitterness. “With such a routine, who wouldn’t be creative!”
Indeed. And with such a routine, the guy’s prose had better be damned good. None of this unnecessary formalism in his popular writings; no tiresome avuncularity. He owes it to those of us who have trouble staying awake, who are too tired to read what we truly enjoy.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Last night, after I wrote those lines, I promptly fell asleep. I’ve been falling asleep very early. The previous night, at around 9:30, I was on the living room floor playing with the cat, and I fell asleep.
At least I knew which day it was.
Cristian: “How nice to see you, John-Paul. Are we supposed to go out for coffee today?”
JP: “No, Cristian.”
Cristian: “When did we recently go out for coffee? Was it last week?”
JP: “It was yesterday, Cristian.”
Edoarda, Stephen’s gf, remarks that during her four years at Bethel she has watched Cristian become more presidential, i.e. more gray. I point out that this is due to his age, not to his lifestyle.
Even so.
Cristian pushes himself through life by drinking loads of coffee; maybe that’s why his emails tend to arrive at 3:00 in the morning. I couldn’t live that way. After my third or fourth cup I’d be a jittery wreck. On the other hand, I fall asleep whenever I try to grade papers.
As we share a French press, Cristian tells me of the habits of a certain well-loved metaphysician who didn’t have a lot of grading to do. “He used to read detective novels all morning, and then he would cheerfully write for a couple of hours; then his workday was over.” A hint of bitterness. “With such a routine, who wouldn’t be creative!”
Indeed. And with such a routine, the guy’s prose had better be damned good. None of this unnecessary formalism in his popular writings; no tiresome avuncularity. He owes it to those of us who have trouble staying awake, who are too tired to read what we truly enjoy.