I need coffee to make coffee
Especially in the interminable darkness that is the
get up in a cold house,
get ready for work
liminal half-awake space
of winter pre-dawn.
It’s in that space
that is neither morning nor night,
that place of not-awake but not asleep-ness
that I stumble into the kitchen.
It’s in that space
that I fill the kettle with water and put it on the stove to boil.
It’s in that space
that I pour the last of the whole coffee beans into the French press.
Groggy.
I lean my head against the wall by the stove
where the water begins to boil
and I wait.
Never realizing that the thing I want most right now
the steaming cup of freshly ground, Frenchly pressed coffee I desperately need
to bring me out of somnambulant kitchen wanderings and into the day
will never come.
Because just now I poured the boiling water over those whole beans and only saw it when I was about to press it down.
Dammit.
Did I mention I need coffee to make coffee?
Same problem here.
always the coffee. xoxo