French press meditation on Timmy catching Santa putting gifts under the tree. He knows if you’re awake, Timmy. This is not going to end well.
Right after I moved to Fire Clay Lofts, I hit up Starbucks each day around 6 a.m. since I didn’t have a coffee maker. However, I’ve since given up my daily Starbucks fix.
For starters, 6 a.m. happens to be an hour when I need to start rocking out work but don’t want to see or talk to anybody for any reason. Nor should I.
Here’s why. Basically, every day I would return home from my Starbucks outing, sip my coffee, and gradually transform into a more caffeinated, more decent human being. I would then spend a good chunk of my day regretting my surly responses to the barista’s chirpy questions.
(“Yes, I totally need four sausage breakfast sandwiches and a weird lollipop donut. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. And please throw in another mocha latte to keep my sad little coffee company. My sad little coffee and I can’t thank you enough, you mindreader, you.”)
Anyhow, the guilt of running my big mouth got to be too much. As a result, I’ve since invested in a kettle and a French press.
But, thing is, I haven’t yet invested in dish ware, so I’m short on coffee cups. Which is another way of saying that I drink my morning joe from my favorite Christmas mug. Timmy catches Santa putting presents under the tree.
“I’m sorry you saw me, Timmy,” Santa says. “Now I’ll have to kill you.”
For God’s sake, this is a guy who sees you when you’re sleeping and knows when you’re awake. What in the hell was Timmy thinking?
It’s off-the-charts festive here at the loft all year long, no question.
This has been your morning French press meditation. As always, you’re welcome.
