That Damn Coffee Machine

It’s morning, and being a writer, I have to start writing. I haven’t written in a couple of days. The coffee pot is empty because my coffee machine broke. As a result, it’s really hard for me to get going. How are you supposed to write without coffee? Yet, I soldier on.

As a writer, I find italics look a lot more sophisticated. I prefer to talk in italics.

I sit down at my writing desk, on my executive high-back chair. I write two and three-quarters of a line. That’s a good start. Let me get on Twitter and tease this piece — marketing is key.

Whoops, I have to do the dishes. I have a maid who comes in and cooks the day’s meals in one go. It’s very convenient, because cooking is a real resource drain for me. But ask her to see her job through, and she says, with an important air about her, that she “doesn’t do any of the dishes at any of her houses”.

Memories of a younger self flash in front of my eyes. The flash is not unlike the hallucinations I had back when the putrid smell of dirty dishes permeated throughout my one bedroom apartment. The trauma opens like a fresh wound. Don’t want that happening again, get to the dishes.

There’s a bit of a whiff of sulphur. Would have been nice to have a pleasant smell wafting through the house. Too bad the coffee machine broke.

Okay let’s switch out of italics a bit. It’s important to play around with formatting.

After the dishes are done, I walk upstairs to the top floor of my plain villa with its modest four bathrooms, and I lie down. I lay down on my bed, to be clear, not in the bathroom. Did I mention I am a writer?

Maybe it’s a bit too much playing around if you use bold to indicate stress.

Doing the dishes drained me — I am tired… hence me on this bed. But it’s time to mentally prepare myself for the gym. There’s no one around in the afternoon, so that’s when I prefer to go.

I wonder if bold is a good look on a long paragraph.

Running on the treadmill sparks a moment of genius — my muse is here. I pull out my phone and open my notes app, penning down an inciteful and witty prompt for a future essay. Of course, I stop running while noting — I am a responsible man. Happy, and with my phone tucked away safely, I resume running.

I spend two hours in the gym. I think my efforts are really starting to show results. If I pull in my stomach, I can see a couple of lines in the right light.

I’m exhausted, and I am able to grab a coffee on my way home. It’s really poor, but that’s what you have to put up with when the machine at home breaks.

I’m home now. While I wait for the water to heat up, I jump on YouTube for a bit. Three hours later, I go take my post-gym shower. Dinner follows.

Refreshed, I sit down to write. Should I continue where I left off, or should I start drafting the new one? The new one is fresh in my mind — it might be better to draft it. I write a couple of lines, and feeling inspired, I write a paragraph. I backspace through the entire last line to reach a typo, and then type that line back out.

Satisfied, I think about the next line, when I notice that it’s nearly 11 PM. I’ve set a strict deadline for myself — it’s really helpful for my mental and physical health to sleep at a fixed time everyday. I close my laptop, and go prepare for bed.

It’s been a good day, I think as I lay my head down. I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

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