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The Importance of Good Coffee

     I look down at the clock at the bottom right of my handy, dandy lap-top and notice the time is 1:00 AM. I reluctantly shut down once again, knowing that though sleep seems to be a waste of time, it's something that we require. Some may undress and slip under the sheets, following that before-bed-trip to the bathroom for the usual things like self-relief and the tooth-brushing thing. But, I have found that I have an added task to that normal routine.

     I make my way to the kitchen and prepare the coffee pot for the morning that will be here in no time. Why don't I just do that in the morning? Well, it has much to do with my anti-meridian behavior. Prior to going to bed it takes me about 60 seconds to prepare the coffee pot. In the morning, however, after ten minutes of stumbling around the kitchen, I'm still trying to figure out where I put the coffee pot after I rinsed it out from the morning before. Irritated at my foolishness for probably having set it down in another area of the house, I shake my head as I realize it's in my hand. And then, i'm doing good if I remember to place the pot back in the coffee maker before turning it on (yes, I have actually left the pot off to the side, vacated the kitchen and then returned to find my morning wonder-drug pouring out over the floor). Yeah, go ahead and laugh. You've done it, haven't you? Okay, whatever, just remember that denial is not healthy.

      To me, coffee is that substance which either makes or breaks my day. I love that time of the morning when I'm the first one up. I walk in, hit the start button, do my morning things like turn on the laptop, hit the bathroom for that ever-so-needed bladder relief, and then attempt at least a partial removal of the rat nest on my head. The I go back to the computer, type in my entry password, and by then, by golly, we have coffee ready to be poured. :) 

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Ah...A Writer's Life...

It's all pretty much the same everywhere, I bet. I'm always the 1st one up. 4Am. But I make the coffee then. I make it on auto-pilot. The requisite components do not elude me, are predicatbly where they ought to be. (I guess I'm a little OCD, or so she tells me). And I have no issue with "fog". In fact, the reason I'm almost always up around 4 is that I can't get that screeching monkey inside my head to shut the hell up until I've got half a page written and the coffee's ready.

Though I'll admit this: last week I was particularly bummed out when I left the keyboard for the kitchen, intent on that first (ie oversized) cup, only to find that I'd opened but not scooped the coffee, thus brewing a potful of mere water.

Maybe you're right....

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And the Saga continues...

A former soldier, I am not totally unaccustomed (sp?) to drinking black coffee. However, over time I have grown to like about a half a teaspoon of honey with just enough milk to color the life giving "mud." All was well. I'd written in the red room blog about the need for my evening preparations. Like clockwork, I did this prior to practicing the art of snoring with (according to her) enough volume to scare the demons out of Lucifer himself.

Rising as I normally do, with daylight finding it's way over the horizon of the mile high city, I hit the start button and when I heard the last of the gurgling, anxiously double-timed to the kitchen only to make the depressing observation that we had no milk.

Does anyone know if Starbucks delivers?

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Every time, my friend.

Every time, my friend. Every time.