The first step is admitting it...

8884777_s.jpg

I need my coffee. I mean, I’m not addicted to it or anything, but the day will not go well if I don’t have my morning Joe.  There might be those who would call me depraved to base the success of my day on how caffeinated I am by 6 AM.  Those poor souls have probably never felt hot java coursing down their throat warming them from the inside out on a cold winter morning, or experienced the short but invigorating burst of euphoria that accompanies that first sip of perfectly brewed dark roast. 

On the other hand, have you ever spent 15 minutes trying to collect the sorry remnants of three almost empty coffee cans into a pile large enough to fill a coffee filter?  I won’t tell you why there are almost empty coffee cans in my house or why I would hide them in the cupboard (I hear there are meetings for that), except to say I just need them, okay?  Don’t judge.

Anyway, it usually goes something like this:  After peeling the lids and smelling how old the coffee really is, I decide it doesn’t matter and carefully shake the leftovers into the filter.  Usually it’s no where near full after all that, so mathematics must be employed.  As Einstein contemplated the mysteries of the universe, could his brow have been more furrowed than mine as I seek to define the correct ratio of water to coffee?  Einstein himself, set with such a monumental task, probably would have gone to Dutch Bros first to clear his head before tackling the complicated equations necessary to make a decent cup of coffee with such limited resources.  I’m no Einstein so I usually just fill up the carafe to the 8 line or so, and then slosh water out until it looks right, with long contemplative pauses in between sloshes.  Sometimes I slosh too much, which means I have to put some water back in the carafe, which necessitates more sloshing and more contemplation—a mere half an ounce can mean the difference between a bold cup of Joe and a cup of Earl Grey, so you can understand my deliberation.  These things simply cannot be rushed.  Unless, of course, I am running late, in which case I end up saying the hell with it and just dumping the water into the machine and hoping for the best.  Sometimes I get lucky; more often than not, Earl Grey wins the day and I am left with a bland cup of hazelnut creamer diluted with boiling hot brown water. 

I usually drink it anyway, because a watery cup of coffee is better than no coffee at all. 

Not that I’m addicted or anything.