I’m at an IHOP sipping coffee.

There’s a kid waving a styrofoam box next to me. Vigorously. Unaware and unapologetic. Now he’s standing on the seat, as his mother protests.

A rooster is getting his chill on in the parking lot.

This is some good coffee.

Mundane. Mundane.

I lost my connection to the mundane. The daily living. The daily loving.

Rephrase. My connection to the mundane has lost its wonder and extraordinariness.

This kid is now putting his feet on the table. His mother has not yet put the screws to him. I don’t mean physical screws either. I mean that look from your mom’s that sears a hole in your soul. The kind of look that lets you know that you will be ethered by the one who gave you life.

The rooster just nodded and warned him of the inevitable.

He just sat down.

That’s the connection. That’s the mundane and extraordinary dancing in arrhythmia.

I lost that. The Sci-Fi Theologian ceased. Jolowmight x Cervantes dissipated. JoDavid… I marched into a slow, inexorable soul-crushing.

Damn. This is some good coffee.

And I’m not even a coffee drinker.

This blog kept part of me alive, but the mundane and extraordinary demands of life temporarily extinguished my… This is not a pity party. My Uncanny X-Men #275 Brother told me to go down the rabbit hole and find the bottom in order to get to the other side.

Writing helps.

Walk of Life by Dire Straits is playing in the background. I can barely hear it. But I know the song so well. It’s one of the favorites me and my mom share.

Mothers and sons should share more than maternal laser beam stares that pierce the soul and bladder.

“And after all the violence and double talk. It’s just a song about the trouble and the strife. Yeah. You do the walk… you do the walk of life… do the walk of life…”

Woohoo.

While I’m sipping coffee. Do the walk of life.

My meal just arrived.

There is an eyelash in my egg whites.

Keep moving.

Keep writing.

Y’all. I’m at a weird and difficult moment in life.

But I’m gonna create anyway. Even with sleep in my eye.

Resurrection.

Even in IHOP.

Help, Lawd.

There’s something precious I’m trying to protect, and the Piccolo in me wants to live and love again.

Senzu Beans. Dragonballs.

Resurrection.

Faith, hope, and love.

©️ 2019 M. J. Sales

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