Today’s message isn’t an abstract, it is very much a real thing, which I use to get me through the day.
Today’s the day about coffee.
My dad drinks (no kidding) almost two pots of coffee each and every day. I don’t try to compete with that, but coffee is a VERY large portion of my day. I usually drink a half a pot, but somedays just suck a little more and so my intake goes up. Coffee is the way I get through my twenties, as I got through my time in high school.
All kinds, thanks for asking. I haven’t quite gotten to the point where I’m comfortable taking my coffee black, but we’re almost there. If I’m making it myself, I have a drip machine and I brew anything from french to black silk to blonde. Then I add in some creamer and give it a stir. (I usually have 3 bottles of creamer in my fridge-all the big ones so I can have options). And if I’m going out, I’ll try something new each time. Going out doesn’t happen very often, so I try ot not over splurge, but you know it happens. I’m a Starbucks gold member (and have been since college started) but I really wish they would reform their standards about ethical consumption of products (A rant for another day). I almost tried the Tim Horton’s Pumpkin Spice Frappaccino, but the drizzle looked like chicken poop on top (I owned chickens-I would know) and I got grossed out. And at any rate, the coffee is so weak compared to how I drink mine, that the only reason I stop there is for baked goods. I deeply enjoy coffee houses.
Waking up is hard. My bed is comfortable, I enjoy sleep thoroughly. Pulling the sleepies from my eyes and yawning and stretching are all part of the daily routine. I pull my hair into a hair tie, watch the bits that aren’t long enough fall back down. And if it’s days like today, I stroll out to the kitchen and turn on my pot. While I wait, I gather my cup (which is actually a soup bowl with a handle (It’s decorated with little coffees, so it counts) and wgo back to my room to change into day clothes. By that time, coffee is mostly ready for a cup and so I pour the deep black goodness in and decide on a creamer. I love watching the little cloud of creamer turn the coffee colors. It’s what I know the coffee will do to me soon enough. I put my stir spoon on the sink, so I can come back for it and raise the cup to my lips and blow.The steam wafts over me, carrying the smell of my creamer (chocolate caramel lately). One sip and my eyes close in delight. Two sips and my brain turns on. By the time my coffee is cool enough to gulp, I’m already getting to work on whatever it is that I need to do today (like this blog, and my nanowrimo novel and the grocery list). One more cup will be savoured throughout the day as I work, maybe two more, and the rest will go in the fridge until I need it on Sunday.
I could write a whole book about how cofffee changes my life from the undead to fully functional member of society. A Zombie-Coffee Love Song.