but mom, everyone else does it.

And I could quit whenever I wanted and take the headaches like a man, and it's not like I have a problem or anything, and it was so sanctimonious of me to be above it, and you don't want me to be sanctimonious, right?


And really it is not like the beautiful thumb-dent mug cannot be used for tea, and I am still a Tea Person, one that will not let the cabinet run out of my beloved Some Velvet Morning. I drink tea all day long. But oh, coffee. You are a bad boyfriend in a leather jacket that takes six years to break in and there you are in the morning and I cannot say no to a tumble with you.

There were times in my life that I practically lived on coffee. My last year of college, especially, I took in very little else besides intoxicants and cold pizza. But it never did anything gratifying for me; I never craved it and used it as a means to an end. It was a time in my life that I felt a deep need to be fast, awake at all times, ready to go. I worked hard, yes, but I never played harder in my life. I didn't want to miss a moment of it. 

Today coffee is the opposite. I grind it by hand in Myron's dad's old grinder, which I know sounds insufferable. The grinding is a slow process. It takes a couple of minutes and it gives me the excuse to make horrible, horrible faces early in the day while I pulverize the beans and then I don't have to take myself seriously for the rest of the day because I know what lurks inside me. One cup, pourover, allowed to cool off for fifteen minutes, cream no sugar. I can think before coffee but those thoughts are less rich and less kind and as friable as those squares of astronaut ice cream. I am a nicer person with coffee. That black leather jacket is a damned classic.