Black Coffee in Bed

I began drinking my favorite beverage as a political statement. I lived in Utah and coffee was verboten by the powers that be. If you drank it, you obviously were not in the fold. 

And I was definitely on the outside looking in. 

I like to think of myself as a coffee connoisseur. There is a big difference between cheap store brands and the good stuff. I try to not get snobby about it, but it’s the truth. You don’t know what you’re missing until you have a perfectly roasted, picked at its perfection, ground finely bean. It’s very unfortunate that too many people never get to experience a truly blissful cup of joe. 

It’s a little bit of heaven in a mug. 

Coffee is as essential to my life and my creative process as liquor and hard living was to Hunter S Thompson or Hemingway. Not that I’m in their atmosphere-very rarified air up there. But that beautiful, black liquid in my mug keeps me moving and grooving. It’s lubricant for my brain.

 I have a daily writing ritual: I get up, make my coffee, drink about a third and then I hand write three pages in my journal. I don’t sit down with an agenda, I just write. Sometimes, fully formed beauty emerges. More often than not, it’s just snippets of things that can later on be fully developed. 

I’ve been doing this for almost 30 years now. I’ve never been overly disciplined in regards to anything else in my life, except for my writing schedule-and my coffee consumption. Day in and day out, I write. Despite this, I do get writers block. In those instances, I write out to do lists, menu plans, just about anything. It’s the act of putting pen to paper and wiring my synapses and neurons. 

Lather, rinse, repeat. 

I drink my coffee black (like my soul). My preference is French press, but my keurig is prime convenience. I don’t have a lot of time or patience in the morning (or any part of the day really) so pressing that button and going is key. I’m not functional until that sweet nectar starts coursing through my veins. As I’ve gotten older, I have had to cut back on my consumption, and make sure I have more blood than Java in my veins. I’ve replaced my 3 pm cup with green tea. I also can’t drink coffee into the night like I used to, as a side effect of aging. I’ll trade the time upright and moving for it any day. 

Brew, baby, brew

I’ve been known to stand over the coffee maker and chant to make it go faster. That initial sip first thing in the morning makes getting out of bed worthwhile. 

Brew, sip, stretch.

Then I’m fully human.

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