Coffee

I wake up and all I think of is coffee. It is 4:25 AM, I am a college student and I need to make coffee. I roll out of bed. Well, rather, I attempt to roll out of bed. My memory foam mattress has sucked me in like some sort of cozy Sarlacc. I try again until I’m finally out of the warm embrace of my comforter and set my feet down on the floor. Standing up, I feel my tiredness and the lack of blood in my head. Woozy and slightly distressed, I begin the walk towards the bathroom. While less than twenty steps from my room, it is perhaps the biggest struggle I face in the morning. The first few steps are like digging my feet out of tried cement and the ones following those are like digging my feet out of almost tried cement. In my state, I sit on the toilet without realizing why I am there. “Of course, I need to pee”, I think, as if were not something I had felt but rather something I had to sense on my own. And so I pee.

I warily walk downstairs to begin the process of finding the only sustenance I think I could manage at this point in my day, dodging my cat who has decided that she wants to play fetch at 4:30 AM.

What could my cat possibly think is okay about that? Belle, that is my cat, is what I think to be a fairly intelligent animal. She is the only cat I’ve met that will retrieve a toy thrown, rather than finding some other odd way to entertain herself. She is also the only cat I know that wants to play with her owner before she has been fed.

I ignore her pleas for food as I load my K-Cup. “What a marvel of human creation,” I say to Belle before realizing the amount of waste they create. “Fuck K-Cups,” I say, slightly louder this time. She rubs against me and purrs — is this agreement or is she using me for my Meow Mix? I reluctantly feed her and quickly walk off so that she can enjoy the food that I’ve provided for her. It is 4:45 AM, I’m tired and I need a shower.

I walk back upstairs but in a hurry. I am behind schedule and I’ll not make it to work on time at this pace. Although, on time is rather hard to define for me. Drive to Atlanta, work for seven hours, drive home. It doesn’t matter what time I go or even what day. As long as I get my 21 hours in this week, I am golden. And so I gather my usual clothing (one of roughly eight polo’s and a pair of jeans) and begin to prepare myself for the day. I turn on the water to what I believe to be the right temperature. Just like yesterday and the day before, it was too hot. Scalding, almost. Tomorrow I will make the same mistake and then every day after that. I open Spotify and manage to find some music I don’t think is that shitty in only three minutes. The shower beckons and I enter it. Shampoo first. Always shampoo first. This almost always means shampoo in my eye first. I’ve accepted it as normal and at this point no one could convince me otherwise. The rest of the shower is what I imagine everyone else’s is like: too long and too warm.

Leaving the shower is a very odd mixture of comfortable temperature and stifling humidity. Brushing the hair out of my face, I contemplate the true importance of showering and realize that I almost enjoy them. Almost enjoying, though, is not the same as enjoying and they appear more as a waste of time. Somewhere, there must be a more efficient way to become clean. Until then, I’ll shower. My routine in the morning is almost always the same:

  1. Put on some form of underwear
  2. Comb my hair back
  3. Get dressed, shave and brush my teeth in some peculiar conglomerate of clothing, tooth paste and an electric razor

It is 5:10 AM, I’m clean and I need breakfast.

Breakfast follows a routine just like showering. Two hard boiled eggs, one cold chocolate chip waffle and water. For the sake of my own sanity, I change the way I eat the egg everyday. Today, it was dipped in barbecue sauce. Tomorrow, no one could know. I eat my breakfast in nearly five minutes and prepare my coffee just after. This is the same cup I described earlier — I make it and allow it so sit for almost half an hour in a mug to ensure that I have the perfect temperature to spill on my face as I drive/sit in I-75 traffic. Preparing to leave home is easy. My backpack contains only my work laptop and a pair of headphones, which is all I really need to get through the day. I leave my driveway, nearly backing into a trashcan as I do. It is 5:25 AM, I’m late for work and I already need a nap.

I arrive at work and park in nearly the same spot on the same level of the parking garage everyday. I take the elevator up three floors and walk towards the revolving door and most amicable security guard I’ve ever met. She smiles and quietly says, “Good morning,” as if someone were sleeping. I take the stairs up another level, unlock the office and clock in. It is 6:04 AM, I’m at work and I need to make coffee.

Feedback is welcome. Thanks for reading.

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