Coffee.

I had to get up at a time with a six in front of it this morning. I realize I am very lucky to be able to organize my time such that I can usually sleep until the seven hits, but I do not find this humane. At least this world has coffee in it.

A former colleague and I decided that there should be a word for “the inability to make your coffee because you haven’t had coffee yet”; I think we settled on “pre-caffeinated coma”. I have a Senseo pad machine, literally the easiest coffee machine to operate: put a pad in, close the lid, press the button. Here are all the ways I have failed this simplest of machines:

  • Forgot to put a new pad in
  • Forgot to close the lid
  • Forgot to put a cup under the spout
  • Forgot to press the button.

Is there anything sadder than a grown woman staring at a coffee machine wondering why it isn’t doing anything when it’s not even on? Maybe staring at the overflow basin filled with perfectly good coffee because I forgot to use a cup, thinking: If I knew when I had cleaned that last I might risk drinking it. 

When I forget to close the lid, at least there’s an adrenaline burst when hot water starts spraying all over the counter. I think the worst is actually when I use yesterday’s pad and don’t realize it until I’m already curled up on the couch, cozy in my blanket, and take the first sip of dishwater coffee.

If coffee had made it to Scotland before whisky, we’d be calling coffee whisky, “the water of life”. “I take two whiskies in the morning!” “I like my whisky like I like my novels, dark and bitter.” “I can’t wake up properly until I’ve had a whisky.”

Cheers.

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