Quintessence: the Quotidian

      The best part of waking up is
falling, when one can, right back to sleep. My favorite part
      of drinking tea is forgetting
I ever made it. The worst part of being awake is suddenly missing
      every me I used to be. Though that

      can also happen in dreams.
Duh. What can’t? Boring people to inhumane death with a lengthy
      recap of a dream
at an otherwise epic picnic? Has anyone ever been literally bored
      to death? Gored, yes,

      but bored? I ponder this while remaking
my Irish Breakfast tea & missing my Scottish Breakfast, which ran out
      the other day, though I’m not sure how
exactly the two differ, & usually in my American
      restaurants, I order English

      Breakfast, as that’s all they have,
which seems wrong & thoroughly imperialist
      maybe. I don’t know much.
I know: in a dream, the tea could stay forever the exact right
      drinking temperature & I never want

      that. I want the debauched
joy of everyday bumbles & flops & the effort to be once more
      more of my me’s
though of course some I’ve outgrown & oops
      the tea’s cold again & oh

      let’s just whack it
in the microwave this time & what do I know except that
      I miss you.
Though you’re only in the other room,
      working. Answering

      customers’ always uncalm,
sometimes kooky calls. Chugging your iced (no whip) mochas.
      In a dream, you wouldn’t,
shouldn’t be working, so I wouldn’t, couldn’t get to miss you,
      not in this sweetly

      boring way. Or
you would, in the dream, be working, but on Jupiter,
      performing very important
extremely scientific research on the gas giant. Gassy research
      that will giantly aid humanity, no,

      every last earthling,
amazing! But darling, my dearheartling. My
      myling, it would
gore me to miss you
      that much.