My eyelids are heavy tonight. Five hour nights don’t suit me well, so I had to resort to coffee to get me home.
I went to the freezer to retrieve the tin can of coffee grounds. Next to it was the ice pack that I used to aid a recent nosebleed. There’s nothing that stops a beautiful, snowy Saturday afternoon like the taste of iron and blood spontaneously running down the back of my throat. It robbed me of my entire evening along with the ability to eat and a peace of mind. There’s nothing so small that is so intruding.
I pulled off the plastic lid and immediately the rich scent of the Columbia coffee beans spilled into the kitchen. I cleaned my coffee cup in hot water while the coffee maker gurgled and steamed. Within three minutes the kitchen was overly warm. The cold creamer hit the fresh, hot coffee and bubbled slightly until I stirred it up and it became a car ride companion.
It’s just after eleven and there are still plenty of people on the road and awake at my house. I much prefer the lonelier hours of the morning. There’s something to being the only pair of headlights on the road. It’s a sanctuary. It’s just me and the car humming on the road.
And now I’m home. Late-night reruns of spy television shows run in the background to keep me company. The curtains are closed for the night and the porch light is left on. The single lamp that is on in the livingroom whispers its yellow light softly and begs me to sleep.
I am giving in with the last bit of coffee that’s gone cold.
To another morning.
And to bed.