Haibun of 25th Year (Part 1)

I

Apparently, no one who lives in southeastern North Carolina knows how to make good coffee. There used to be a good coffee place, where I could down macchiattos until my vision blurred, but it closed one year ago (a lesson in impermanence).  Now, Bryce does a coffee tasting, making pourovers with beans roasted out West. But too often my desire for caffeine compels me to seek out less appetizing alternatives:

sitting in starbucks
          am i drinking coffee? sour
                      like tar, but weaker.

But sometimes I feel guilty for being so critical:

sipping shoe polish--
      those poor children somewhere, though
don't even have that

II

North Carolina has beautiful fall days. The blue skies distract me from completing anything and the cool wind finally lets me wear a fashionable coat after I have spent three unbearably humid summer months in obligatory partial nudity.

carolina blue . . .

     does it reference this sky, or

this melancholy?

In elementary school, falling off the Earth seemed a possible concern. Now, in my 25th year, it's difficult to convince myself of the reality of this problem. Everyone suspects that gravity is someone's whim, though, even philosophers. 

III

On my way to a class I didn't prepare for:

i love learning so
              why do i watch so much porn
                                   and forget to study?

Lately, the stress of my own idiocy has worn me into a rather disappointing groove. I focus on one class or another, never able to get all of my work done. Anxiety then makes my work harder than usual. I have to struggle against my own embarrassment in order to make it to class, but, inevitably, attending class reminds me that yes, I actually do love what I'm doing; I love talking about ideas, especially obscure ones.

even sweating like
       a twisted wet sponge, i love
to babble theory