Monday, April 23, 2007

What I will endure for coffee

It is shameful, but I am a hopeless coffee addict. I have been utterly incapable of getting in gear on my weekends. My job requires me to be available during the most peculiar hours, and it varies. So when I get time off, I have lately found myself sleeping for at least a full day, with the exception of the odd hour here or there. Is it catching up or is it something else? I talked to my doctor about it, and she insists that my problem is the schedule. She seems to think that my "internal clock" is thrown off, and this may be more problematic for my body than it would be for someone else.

I mostly agree with her, and it would be fabulous to get a different job if I didn't love what I do so much. Plus, I get paid an obscene salary for very little work, as I see it. Still, I am considering looking around outside my organization. Plus, my interview for that promotion-of-sorts didn't go very well. Couldn't hurt.

Today, I woke up at 5 AM. I lolled about in bed until 9 AM reading, trying to go back to sleep, ignoring my cat, ignoring the phone, ignoring the leaf blowers outside. Dreaded was the sight of my living room and kitchen, which hadn't been attended to in a serious way for two weeks. It sounds like the author is a slob. Perhaps I am ripening into one, as the inclination has always been there, held at bay by a nervous uneasiness that my natural tendencies could attract bugs and repel humans. I am still concerned about the bugs, but I'm beginning to tell myself, "Eh, so-and-so doesn't care what this place looks like," expecting so-and-so to keep her mouth shut about my shoes all over the place or quit stopping by without calling first. When I work, I hardly have time for cleaning anyway. I sometimes work for 16 hours straight, and undoubtedly do not notice anything when I walk in the door. I peel off my clothes, kick off my shoes, turn off the phone, set the alarm and soon am busy sleeping. I wake exactly 8 hours later and tear out of here immediately.

As per this post from March, I am capable of stooping mightily low in order to fill my system with its required 8 cups of coffee before being able to function effectively. Today, as I idled out of bed, my only consolation was that maybe I'd feel better after that first cup. In the kitchen, I was confronted with the most ghastly scene: my water purifier had algae at the bottom of it. This tells me two things. Firstly, perhaps it's time to change the filter... and secondly, maybe it needs to be cleaned out sometimes. I naturally thought that since the water was clean, there was no reason to clean it. I guess that was a testament to my disinterest in anything remotely scientific. I realize that this being lazy on my days off is starting to make me very careless, and I find that I don't enjoy my wonderful little apartment nearly as much anymore....

But I needed some coffee! I knew that I'd be done for if I drank the algae-water, but coffee was much more urgent than cleaning that nasty old thing out. I looked around. There were several half-drank bottles of evian, Arrowhead and whatever other overpriced water, strewn from one end of the apartment to the other. I gathered them up, and dumped them into the coffee maker. The finished product doesn't taste too badly. I was able to clean the purifier, and I even had a spare filter, brand new! I'm so proud.

While I embarked on the drudgery of straightening up my cluttered environment, I briefly recollected how things used to go around my house. X brought me coffee in bed every morning. I almost forgot how to make it. For a few moments, I did miss getting my coffee served in bed, exactly the way I liked it too. One might wonder why a person would divorce someone who performed such a gallant act every single morning. Even I might call someone crazy for doing so. But that was pretty much the full quantity of his manners, and it was unfortunately borne from a place of pure selfishness.

The man did not like the coffee I made. He started jumping out of bed as I was sleepily searching out my slippers with my naked feet. he would quickly race to the coffee maker, having readied it long before I sensed reality. Waiting on his hard-working wife was probably more self-preservation rather than sheer love. If this old girl didn't her her buns out of bed, SOMEBODY wouldn't be free to dilly dally around freely all day without a care. Somebody might have been forced to get a **job** or something unpleasant like that.

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