Coffee. The first sip. Not the second, not the third, the very first sip. There is nothing like it. I look forward to it in the morning. Something we all unintentionally take for granted. Some nights I lay in bed thinking, oh I cannot wait to get up and have a cup of coffee. I know it sounds a little absurd, but there is a feeling I get when I get my cup, curl up on the couch with the fuzzy warmth of my fur blanket; the house is quiet. The feeling is almost surreal.
For me to have this feeling I must drink it out of my favorite mug with my favorite coffee creamer. Vanilla caramel. Consistency every morning, it gives me peace. But not today. I thought I would try irish cream for my coffee creamer. Good feeling gone.
This morning I’m in deep thought. Mulling over various bits of my days, the next few months, the next year. What’s next? Continuosly seeking change, it’s a bad habit of mine.
I stare at my coffee mug. I’m dead inside. That is my thought. Just like my coffee mug, just like the flavorless irish creme.
Yet what I say doesn’t make sense. If consistency gives me peace then why do I seek change? I have been trying to answer this question for years. Maybe it’s the idea of learning something new. There are certain things I miss, some are family….what we had when we were young. The joys of long hot days, the water at our feet, mud between our toes and not a care in the world. Each day was something new, something exciting. I miss this, I miss us. But I know we will never be again, that moment, has been sabotaged.
Another day of consistency. There will be something I will learn today, there always is. But the moment won’t last. Maybe I will start college again and earn my doctorate. That should keep me busy again for awhile. But I won’t. I might. But I won’t.
For now it’s just me and bad taste….my thoughts, the anticipation of direction and this wretched irish creamer.