the little things

This morning I broke one of my favorite mugs. I didn't even really care. I just looked down, at the broken pieces of ceramic, coffee spreading across the brick like some strange, pale, alien-ic blood, all tan and watery. It was one of those perfect mornings, I sat outside in the sun, starting a new book, eating a green chili cheese bagel and drinking coffee. And then I reached over to get another bite of bagel and knocked my mug off its delicate perch on the armrest. crash. Huh, I thought, that was one of my favorite mugs. I took two semesters of ceramics in college, and have a few boxes of various and sundry dishes, but few of them are really all that nice. This was one of them, but you know, sometimes you just have to say, it's a mug. Just a little, insignificant material piece of nothing. I wish I could feel that way about everything. A complete and absolute lack of sentimentality for material items. One could just pick up and leave, with a backpack full of necessities, and not even care.

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In other notes, I didn't actually break a mug this morning. It was just a scenario I played out in my head, imagining it happening, staring at the hypothetical result, and feeling nothing. It was amusing to me, to think all these things out, for some reason, like having conversations in my head that never occur. And then, because I wanted to write a blog entry, but writing about Spain was too daunting for the moment, I wrote about an insignificant event that never occurred. Well on my way to becoming a great fantasy writer! hah!