Those mornings when I pour whole coffee beans straight into the cafetière.
Sending a hundred of them clitter-clattering against the glass.
Or ricocheting like little brown bullets beneath the microwave.
Bypassing the coffee grinder completely.
I need to avoid mornings like that.
Mornings like that are not good for me.
Beans.
I freeze when this happens.
The coffee bean thing.
I freeze like a statue.
Staring first at the mis-housed beans.
Staring second at the bag I poured the beans from.
As I hold the bag static.
Chest high.
In disbelief.
I need to avoid mornings like that.
Mornings like that are not good for me.
Split.
It feel split in two whenever this happens.
The coffee bean thing.
I feel split between being in the kitchen.
Fucking up coffee.
And somewhere else quite different.
Worrying, no doubt.
Drifting off.
Overthinking a money thing.
Or a house thing.
Or an Izobel thing.
I need to avoid mornings like that.
Mornings like that are not good for me.
Funny.
The scenario itself is funny, of course.
Me swearing.
Growling under my breath.
Squeezing fat, clumsy finger-tweasers into vessels and under toasters to get the whole beans back to the coffee grinder to meet their crumbly demise.
But why it happened is not funny.
Because to fully enjoy my coffee.
I need to concentrate on coffee.
Thinking only of coffee.
Smelling only coffee.
Tasting only coffee.
Not polluting the all-important multi-sensory minutiae with uninvited troublesome thoughts.
I need to avoid mornings like that.
Mornings like that are not good for me.
