I am not the greatest of morning persons. (persons? people? whatev.) When I say “not the greatest,” I mean that when I wake up, my first impulse is to maim or destroy. I stumble around in a haze of sleep until I magically find myself near the Thrice-Blessed Coffeemaker which my sainted grandparents bestowed upon me when I left for college (most likely in an attempt to keep my future roommates alive) and pour a cup.
I have lived with many people since I left home, some of whom were morning people (I’m looking at you, K!) who would just pop out of bed. singing. loudly. (I miss her.) And some of whom were like me, and we’d sit in silence for about half an hour, then suddenly greet one another and start our days. (That’s when the caffeine in our blood streams finally made it all the way through so we can think and move.)
My current roommates have learned not to ask me any questions until I’ve had my coffee because all they’ll get is muttering about rabid poultry.
But all this has changed. A new day has come.
My second-favorite coffee blend is back!
I now wake up with a song in my heart, ready to leap out of bed towards the joy that is my morning cup (or four) of coffee.
(Well… that was anti-climatic.)
