When I wake after too little sleep. After I downed some over-the-counter sleeping pills the night before. When I’m trying to remember how to insert my legs in my pants. When I’ve drawn a bath backwards and now have a tub full of cold water. When it’s raining hard early on. When the sun is overwhelming even at this hour. When I remember what I have to do today is twice as much as what I thought. When I forget. When the dream I landed here from makes little sense, and when it’s so marvelous that I’m heartbroken to wake.
I used to be a tea person, but after a naturopath told me to take a break from black tea, assuring me coffee was fine, my little fliration with coffee caught fire (not that I drink a lot of it — usually no more than a cup a day). Coffee is now habitual, the first thing I aim myself toward after the stumble from bed. The smell of coffee has always brought me a river of serenity, that sense of being taken care of, watched over and embraced. Like the words from Quaker song, “Tis a Gift To Be Simple,” the taste of coffee now turns and turns me until I come ’round right.
So let’s hear it for the cup of Joe, liquid ambition, black gold, brain juice, cup of jolt, daily grind, liquid lightning, morning mud, mama’s little helper, rocket fuel, especially when the day is early and night too short.