I wake to the sound of nothing, and no smell of coffee in the air. I wake with excitement.
There is no smell of coffee in the air because I never set the coffee to auto-brew on Friday night. I get to wake and take my time making the “good” coffee in the percolator.
I take my time getting it going, taking care to measure the water and the grounds exactly right. Once plugged in, of course I’ll quickly make my morning smoothie, but then I’ll watch coffee brew through the transparent bulb of the percolator. The perfect time of week, the only time of the week that exists solely for me.
I ascend the stairs to our room again, tray of breakfast items in hand for wife and me to enjoy. She’s still dozing, and we’re still in the quiet before the baby wakes. I find myself sitting back down with the deepest sigh, thinking “this is it, I’ve arrived. This is what life is about. Going slow, not setting agendas. This is what we work for.”
Taking that first sip of perfectly percolated coffee is like a rush of cold water, and feeling the blood vessels constrict in my head only confirms the feeling of energy I’m chasing. I appreciate the way the oils sit at the top of the coffee cup, making their own plans for their day.
This is it, we’ve arrived. Time, coffee, the illusion of control. And now, of course, time to waste it all on reruns of Gossip Girl.
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