Coffee.

So I woke up 6:30 this morning to finish up a little bit of homework. I had my laptop on the dining table with my calculus textbook right next to it, and I thought, "a cup of strong coffee sounds good right about now." Looking forward to making some coffee (btw, it's smelling the grind and brewing it is a part of the whole process) I try to finish all my homework to fully enjoy my cup. Mom cleans out the coffeemaker only to let me know it's broken. Broken. Broken? I guess it's from all those times I fired her up late nights and early mornings.
It's not that I'm addicted to coffee, nor am I drinking it for the sole purpose of caffeine to run through my veins. It's not my fuel or my spark. It's the bold taste, crisp smell, and the silky bitterness that my taste has grown acquired to...just like the way many people have grown to drinking hot cocoa with mini marshmallows on a gray rainy day, or when it's snowing outside...just like the way my parents like to eat bitter melon and fried fish to remind them of home. It's the only beverage I enjoy after a good drive in the windy backroads. Coffee. It's my fix.

So here's a toast to my next pick-up. It won't be for awhile, but it helps to yearn.

The last machines for those extra, quick shots of espresso.

Til then. Easy brewin'.