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Tales of a Part-Time Coffee Addict, Part Three

The alarm eased me out of sleep as it was supposed to. It doesn’t happen all the time, but today it worked. The strong smell of dark roast coffee wafted into my bedroom through the open door and I smiled into the warmth of my pillow.

I always set the coffee pot for auto brew. That way I wake up to the smell of dark Sumatran loveliness in the morning. Whether I drink it depends on the day or the previous night. I rarely need the coffee, but it’s a rarer day that I don’t want it.

It took three beeps from the pot to rouse me from my bed, and that’s after my phone sang my alarm through four times. I may have woken halfway through the first verse the first time it played, but the will to move didn’t strike me until those three beeps from the pot in the other room trilled what I was missing.

Today was not a black coffee day. I could tell that by the way my teeth clenched and my tongue grated. I needed the sweet creme and it’s comfort.

My apartment is small, so it only takes about ten large steps to reach the kitchen from my bed, even when I have to dodge my roommate’s mess–and my own–to get to the morning’s brew. This morning I had to do more than dodge because of the half unpacked remnants of her two-week trip to Italy. Sidestepping her bed is normal, but lunging over her suitcase is not. I suppose if it were, I would have toned thighs to match my calves.

Coffee in hand, I meander toward my favorite armchair. I set my mug on the side table and fall into the chair. So many thoughts run through my mind as I sit sipping my coffee that it amazes me when I check the time and it hasn’t been more than five minutes.

If I tried to think that much in a span of five minutes, it would take me fifty. I can’t explain the phenomenon of brain versus time, but there is clearly some disparity.

When I check my phone, the clock says three minutes to seven thirty, and I know I’ll be late. Isn’t that how it always goes? You get up with ten minutes to get ready, and you make it to work with ten minutes to spare, but if you wake up with two hours to get ready, you’ll be ten minutes late. Every time.

 

Writings

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