The tabletop is strewn in, by and with cacophony. On the one end — laptop, bluetooth speaker, books — Ulysses, Bedlam, Old French dictionary. Two mechanical pencils resting on a wadded dishtowel. An open planner, red pen. A Little Zen Calendar sheet from Wednesday December 11, 2002 — I am enlightened, and always have been, simultaneously with the beginning of the universe: The Buddha, first words after realizing the truth. The Zen is half covering a Guinness coaster and a cardboard coaster from Galaxy’s Edge. The blessed coffeemug with the photo of Magellan looking contemplative. He was a good cat. Director of Rodent Management. Often more like a colleague than a pet. One time he was gone for three months.
The other end — Precalculus with Limits. That’s a massive book. Billfold. Empty waterglass. Tissue and gum wrappers, lipstick and chapstick. Custom bookmark made by a friend — Let the Good Times Roll — with dice. How did that get down there? Must retrieve it. A pink novel, cover down. She has been reading it, must be good. Plastic Walmart sack on top of a copy of the New Yorker. Paper bag from Pearl’s Books. Another Galaxy’s Edge coaster. Silver sharpie and hand sanitizer.
The table is in use.