(Mine was a to-go cup, but you get the idea…)
!!! sploosh !!!!!
I wouldn’t say this is “one of those days”,
but that moment was surely
“one of those moments”.
There are few smells in the world better than quality roasted coffee beans. in fact, the smell is so good that the brewed coffee itself rarely lives up to the olfactory ecstasy that precedes it.
>closes eyes and breathes deeply of remembered bean bliss<
Ahhh, yes! Coffee! Many people cling to coffee for its stimulation. They consider themselves totally dependent on the substance for waking up, being creative, staying awake, etc, etc.
But I object, your honor! I object to the idea of being dependent on some natural physical substance to bring my body and mind to a state of heightened energy or awareness. It bothers me to think that some mindless, non-sentient chemical might hold such power over me.
Funny to think of it that way.
Especially since I choose dependence on a more intangible source, something I can’t even see or touch.
I can sense him sometimes, though.
And that means a lot to me.
Somehow I don’t mind waiting on a sentient spirit for ideas, even if he’s invisible. It’s a totally different thing. And there’s an excitement of the dance, the interchange and exchange of thought and idea from something other than myself, and someone with ideas far outside my own range of experience.
Oh, but that’s not what I was going to write about!
I was talking about my coffee.
Coffee lovingly roasted at the local coffeehouse. Flavored to perfection.
And splattered in one slip of the hand all over my refrigerator, groceries and floor.
I can still see it, like at the peak of a movie action scene when the whole thing slows down and you see the awful moment when the treasure falls from the hero’s hand, plummeting to the depths below.
The paper to-go cup.
Hitting the floor with enough force to pop the lid completely off.
And then the (quite artistically) splattered
dark chocolate brown liquid
all over the ketchup bottle.
The salad dressing.
The fridge door.
The glass over the veggie drawer.
The kitchen linoleum.
I snatched up the cup, hoping to save something. And all that was left was one swallow.
And some rich, dark sludge.
>yum! licks lips<
The world sped back up again, and I stared at the mocha dripping into a pool, slowly spreading across the floor.
>considers licking the coffee off the floor on hands and knees<
>rejects the idea with a sigh<
Ah, well. Say la vee.
I didn’t need it anyway.
“la vee!” =p
I’ve never considered myself a dependent either, but I’ve found a certain satisfaction in having a cup of that nasty American brew before starting my shift.
*Loved* the slow-mo image. Doesn’t life seem that way sometimes?