The Coffee Prophecy

I want to write something different today. Something that might make you laugh. Or worry about my sanity. Possibly both.

I read coffee grounds.

Now, before you close this tab—I don't believe in fortune telling. I don't think the universe arranges bean residue to send me personal messages. That would be absurd.

But here's the thing about pattern recognition: once you train your brain to see patterns, it sees them everywhere. And sometimes, even if the patterns aren't "real," they're useful.

This morning, my coffee grounds settled into what looked unmistakably like a triangle.

I've been seeing triangles everywhere lately. In the map of anomalies. In the formation the crows take when they land. In the static patterns on my oscilloscope.

And now, in my coffee cup.

I laughed when I saw it. Really laughed, for the first time in weeks. The universe isn't sending me messages through my coffee. That's ridiculous.

But my brain is clearly trying to tell me something. All these triangles I keep seeing—my subconscious is processing data I haven't consciously organized yet.

So I sat with my coffee grounds and I asked myself: what's at the center of the triangle?

And I realized: I don't know yet. The three points are clear—the cabin, mile marker 17, those window coordinates. But the center? That's where this is all pointing. Literally.

Tomorrow I'm going to plot the exact center point of that triangle.

I'm scared of what I'll find.

But the coffee's not going to drink itself, and the answers aren't going to find themselves either.

Stay curious, friends. Even when curiosity feels dangerous.