oh yeah.

once, daily, i would make espresso. some days i'd have cafe con leche, sometimes i'd drink it straight. i love and miss my little stovetop espresso pot and my kitchen i'd use it in. i miss the ritual of it, the smell, the sound of the coffee bubbling up. seems a silly routine to miss, but i do.

though i've always embraced novelty and new experience (along with the associated mild anxiety), i lately recognize i am very attached to routine. sometimes it's routine from another time. i have yet to decide if i like the idea.

every month i pay a bill for storing my belongings in a complexionless, climate-controlled building. it is always the hardest check to write. my books are all in there like so many paper prisoners. my supplies. my supplies to supply my supplies. workspaces and places, favorite frying pan, two danish modern chairs that need recovering. things from my life when my life was mostly mine.

i kept out a box of books and a few things, including my espresso pot, from my daily routine when i moved here. i was hoping to teach and had left some art theory and criticism books very handy. i've gone through and re-read favorite essays. i've looked at the little pot many, many times. i'm sure i could use it where i am now. i really should because, last i checked, my life is still mine. oh yeah.