08/18/2003 Entry: "Four Times of Coffee, Two Days."

Sunday Morning: It is bright, and there is a shadow, and I come into what passes for consciousness. I am aware that Garrison Keillor is talking. This must mean it is sometime after eleven. There is some sort of movement going in the room, I can sense it behind my closed lids. I open an eye. Everything is blurry. There's a tall male shape coming towards me.
"Good morning," he says, lightly caressing my leg. "Would you like some coffee?"
I nod. Coffee is something my not-really-conscious mind can firmly grasp. He gestures to the nightstand, where there is already a cup of coffee, I assume. (I have not rolled over enough to see it, and without my glasses I might mistake it for something else anyway.)
"Is coffee not strong enough for you?"
I give him a funny look.
"Maybe you'd like some espresso too?"
I smile. Our typical sunday morning breakfast is bagels and coffee with the paper; when I go get them I usually pick up a double shot for a morning jolt. This morning he has put a white paper cup next to the ceramic mug, and he's put just the right amount of sugar in both drinks. I could get used to this, I think. That's just what I've been thinking all these years, he answers.

Sunday Evening: "I'm tired," I announce.
"Do you want some coffee?"
"No, I try not to drink coffee after 6. I find it's a convenient way to see 4AM, whether I want to or not."
Instead I have a cookie. Much later, I finally get into bed. It is 2:40AM.

Monday Morning: I'm tired. I have a meeting in five minutes. I walk to the breakroom here on the second floor. One of the custodial staff is cleaning and restocking the kitchen, including the fancy automatic coffee machine. I turn and walk out, up the grand hallway stairs to the third floor coffee maker.
There is a cup of swill—a cold, viscous combination of water, coffee, and hot chocolate— on the This-is-Not-a-Drain. I dispose of it, press "Medium" and "Strong" and "Start" and put my aluminum mug underneath the spout. I wait. This machine is slower than the one on our floor. I'm getting anxious. Finally the product dispenses. It is a warm, viscous combination of water, coffee and hot chocolate. I dump it out and rinse my mug.
I hotfoot up to the fourth floor, slightly lost, and do a lap before I find their coffee machine in working order. Two brewing cycles (it's a big mug) and I make it downstairs just in time, huffing slightly, trying not to spill coffee on myself.
Eventually, the meeting starts—10 minutes late.

Monday Evening: It is nearly six. I'm debating with myself how much later I will be staying at work this evening. I sip at my mostly-full cup of coffee. I notice the time and start drinking more quickly. I realize that I am trying to beat my own deadline for drinking coffee; I wonder if pounding down a cup of coffee at 6 is worse than sipping one at 7:30.

I'll let you know for sure at 2:40.

Replies: One Comment

(In my best Homer Simpson imitation).. mmmm cooooffffeeeeee grrggrrrgggg

Posted by sillynun @ 08/19/2003 11:25 AM PST