The Black Stuff

I have always loved the smell of coffee. One of my strongest memories of my Grandparents’ house is the coffee smell that filled the kitchen every morning. It’s a smell that reminds me of childhood and somehow makes me happy. But even while loving the scent, I never drank the “vile” concoction. It was so incredibly bitter, I couldn’t figure out why people enjoyed it.

Twelve years ago, going through some emotional issues with very good friends who had an incredible “lapse of judgement”, I filled up a mug with coffee, loads of sugar and creamer, and got through my first cup. I found it warm and comforting. Quickly, I acquired the taste for it.

I rarely drink coffee outside of work and even there I only drink one cup a day in the morning. But as I’m commuting to work, I find myself anxious for that daily cup (now loaded up with creamer and Splenda).

And every morning, when I finally raise my coffee mug to my lips and take my first drink, I find myself smiling.