day 23.

“If you don’t feel it, flee from it. Go where you are celebrated, not merely tolerated.” — Paul F. Davis

its been a whirlwind and i havent really been able to pause and speak to myself.

i love what i am doing but is the love enough, is the “doing” ever enough.

i grew up constantly hearing “love never says i have done enough” and though coming from a phase i partially regret HAHA it does give a “shot to the heart and youre to blame” kind of feeling.

do i love?

have i loved?

is it love?

 

COFFEE COUNT: + 4

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day 9.

525,600 minutes.

525,000 moments so dear.

525,600 minutes… how do you measure, measure a year?

Hi.

Im Pia and I love coffee.

that being stated, I feel the need to further elaborate my loose use of the word “love.” It may have been used to describe an acceptable (to my personal standards) level of addiction, dependence, fascination, intrigue, interest, passion and mild enslavement. so yes, I do love coffee.

This morning, swirling with my usual set of early morning musings, I realized that I now favor strict black brewed coffee. Yes, it is dead-to-the-tongue bitter but I seem to be completed by its presence in my system from just one sip (or maybe a huge gulp).

Later in the day, I got another cup from a coffee shop near where I had a “meeting.” The barista asked me for my name and being my effervescent (the fizzy kind) self I said “Pia with a P” with such a high spirit. A few minutes later, I got this.
hearted P

After the “meeting,” I went to another coffee shop to work. Laptop on desk, organizer opened, colored pens ready, coffee on hand, I was ready.
But I wasn’t too enthusiastic about work that afternoon (HAHA) so I demanded an impromptu coffee-date with a friend whom I knew was in the area. She obliged.

We talked about LIFE and had mature realizations of what was, those that are currently and the daunting could be. It was refreshing; much like sipping a generously iced americano with raw sugar. It made its mark, left its hint, gave me a boost and left me feeling oddly, interestingly and much gratefully renewed.

I knew that this year would not be dramatically different from all the other years before it. It will have its share of “hell-hath-no-fury burned tongues”, “overly sweetened blended stuff”, “why the hell am I drinking this shit”, “too white there is no room for black (and vice versa)” and many other cups that I have and will soon encounter but luckily there would always be an entity; be it a thing, person, place, moment, desire… which may be pulled into “my quaint coffee corner” allowing me to realize that I have the ability to make sense of it with a dash (or sometimes heaps of) love.

measure your life in love.

CUP COUNT: 16