Coffee Stuff

Sitting down to write I find I am looking for my cup of coffee nearby. It’s not the coffee at all that I am reaching for, but realizing that the coffee has simply become a vehicle for what I really crave. As I refill once again this morning I am pondering the flavored stuff I’m putting in it. When did I begin this addiction to the cloyingly sweet non dairy concoction? Knowing how sweet it is, why then do I pour so much in with each cup? I don’t really want to know that answer, I am quite happy just knowing it’s in there. There is anxiety in knowing I have an almost empty jug so low that there’s not enough to properly sweeten that first cup. And lo, the mornings I’ll put that anemic amount in and just make the coffee mad. The disappointment those mornings is palpable, and I’ll vow to never do THAT again. It will get marked on my shopping list as “coffee stuff”.

A delicate balance is to pour the correct combination of too much liquid nondairyartificiallyflavoredpalmoilcornsyrup and regular java until it has achieved the perfect color of beige. Drink too much and the late morning is shot with a blood sugar imbalance, miss out and rue the day. It is an early morning dance to which I have nimbly mastered the steps, using the warm cup as security blanket, so often carried with me from room to room and just as often left on a counter top still full. Ah, the need, the poetry, the love of Cinnamon Hazelnut. Or Marshmallow Cream. Or Peppermint Mocha.