Joy

I enjoy my coffee.

No, really. I want to open a coffee shop and make it marvelous so that everyone I know can likewise enjoy coffee. Or tea. I won’t discriminate.

Twenty minutes of my morning consisted of researching the finer points of brewing a quality cup of French press. Another five revolved around learning the differences in blade grinders and burr grinders. The last five minutes before actually making the coffee found me at the sink, furiously cleaning my coffee plunger like a mad woman – after all, what’s a girl to do when she realizes her lifeline could be ruined with a nasty build-up of coffee oils?

I sit now at my desk – mug of coffee directly in front of me, study materials assuming their rightful position behind it (priorities, ladies and gents), pondering how wonderful it will be to be a real nurse and have money for a burr grinder. Ridiculous, I know. I’ll do pretty much anything to get out of studying any more for this final tomorrow.

With that, I’ll put the laptop to the side, bring the coffee and papers forward, and sit at my desk to finish studying (door open, sun streaming in, with the symphony of the busy street traffic making its way past the hideously ugly bushes in our backyard that are supposedly acting as “sound barriers”).