I start every day with a drink that I set on my bedside table the night before so I can enjoy my first sip before I even get up in the morning. I go to bed dreaming of the scent of liquid cinnamon, thick and room temperature – the better to drink it all in one swallow. It’s that delicious.
I take my first sip before putting on my glasses, before going to the bathroom, before checking my phone. The tepid liquid joy makes me so happy to start the day. I prepare myself another glass and set it out to steep while I take a shower, then gulp it down quickly as I get into my car and drive into work in town.
By the time I get into the office, I am more than ready for another drink.
But first, I force myself to do at least an hour of work – the kind of deep writing and organizing that I can only do in the morning. Sometimes I’ll get so engrossed in a piece that I forget the siren call of Cafe Creme below. But inevitably by ten o’clock, I am looking at my calendar and seeing where I can squeeze in fifteen minutes for a pick-me-up.
Everyone at the bar knows my name and drink when I walk in the door.
“Two shots or one ?” Such a silly question.
Sometimes I linger at a table. Sometimes I take my drink to go, sneaking in sips as I walk around the block, trying to get in 8,000 steps despite a desk job that can eat up as much time in the day as I would give it. Killing two birds with one stone.
Sometimes, if it’s been a bad day, I pop downstairs for another drink early in the afternoon. I don’t feel guilty about the money or time or effort I spend on this habit. It’s harmless enough.
We all need a little sunshine. I am lucky mine comes in the form of caffeine.
By late afternoon I am done, a zombie; wrung out and brainless from working, from living, from drinking. My energy seeps away and I have saved the mindless, easy tasks for the evening dead time.
Before I go to bed, I prepare my morning drink, and go to bed dreaming of tea leaves and cinnamon.