Pure torture at its best. An hour long commute from Brooklyn to Manhattan and no coffee. I was running late and no time to stop. I chose being on time versus stopping. I did the right, consistent, career solidifying move. I got on that bus.
But I feel like I left my best friend behind.
Coffee is a commodity for a reason. Beans grown in some regions go for hundreds of dollars a pound. There is a Starbucks on every corner and America runs on Dunkin.
We are a coffee-centric nation and I am the Power-pump wearing Queen of Coffee Fan Club.
The scent of brewing beans wakes me up from any sleep on the weekends. I could choose to “sleep in” however if one of my sons turns on the Cuisinart and starts grinding beans, besides the noise, that aromatic scent coaxes me gently awake.
Miranda….good morning…rise and shine…
There is a morning ritual surrounding each cup for me. Monday to Thursday – carpool coffee. Friday – express bus cup. It is necessary step in my routine. Just like my mascara. I wouldn’t leave house without my mascara, and I don’t leave for work without my coffee.
I can smell it. I can feel it. I can taste it.
Oh I hope we make it through the Midtown Tunnel quickly…
Step on that gas Joe (my bus driver)