Anxiety

Puff,
Steam is released from my kettle.  Soon, soon, so soon... Steam come on make a whistle...
Steam go...
Steam explode!
Steam FIRE!
nope... I take a sip from my coffee cup,
still hot,
yum.
This'll be pot number... 3?  Yes, three.  Right, well... I've just reduced the number of days this bag of beans will last by at least 1... possibly 2?  I hope not, let's assume that I would've had coffee twice that day then it only reduces it by 1 and if this is the third then I'll have only lost half a day of coffee today.
Good Job Danika, you're amazing...
wait a minute...
this'll be pot of coffee 4 and I've already had three...
Shit.
My chest is pounding.  It kind of hurts, almost.

Oh coffee, wherefore art thou coffee?
why, Why dost thou taste so wonderful?
You warm my heart.  You invigorate my soul.
Why are you coffee, coffee?
I could drink cup after cup of you and never stop loving you.
I could love a thousand loves and cry a thousand tears
but coffee you will always get me up in the morning.
Coffee

What?  What is that sound?
Oooohh!  The water is boiling!  Time to make another pot of coffee!
I grab the French Press, already filled with ground coffee beans.
Ground to perfection, the right amount to leave no residue in my cup.  I am so proud of my work when I do it right I do it so right as to not leave anything that could be considered less than a perfect level of groundessingdllslaksdfj...
Yes, coffee...
Right I've got my coffee pot and I grab the kettle.
For a moment, it feels warm.
then it feels hot.
now it burns.
I know it will not leave blisters so I continue to hold it in my farmers hands.
Ahhhhhh, pain can be good.
Pain can be pleasing.
I pour the coffee into the french press and as I do I notice the knuckle of my middle finger is touching the glass of the container.  The water swirls and begins to darken.  My knuckle begins to burn.  I wonder if this whole steeping process is even necessary?  You know what, my knuckle actually hurts quite a bit.  The whole steeping thing might just be a conspiracy.  I hope the burning will leave a mark...
Marks and cuts are gorgeous.
Pain is so beautiful

At least when it leaves a clear record behind.

A kind pause is passing me by, I have to remember it.



I set the kettle down and place my hand on my face.  It feels so warm.  Warm and Calm.  I like you...
I set the French Press on the table in the kitchen and set a timer for four minutes.
The timer is ticking down and I want to hug someone.  How is this so lonely?   Coffee, I reach for my coffee cup but it contains only a minuscule amount of coffee.  I drink it anyway and the coffee is ice cold.
A moment ago I swear it was warm...
I can't really remember though.  It was probably cold then.
In fact, I'm certain it was cold.
I'm certain this next pot will bring me nothing but,
But...
BUT!
Anxiety.
I really need to cut down on the coffee intake.  You know it is addictive.  You know it's bad for your...
it's bad for you!
and...
your heart.
I should have made this last cup of coffee
but it's worse to waste.
So, I'll drink it anyway.
How many minutes left?
3?
ugh, well they never said it would be easy.
Yeah, you know it isn't.
Life is hard,
and I need coffee if I'm going to get up everyday
Face the bleak sky
Swim against the undertow
Fight and live to fight another day!
er...
2 minutes still?
Well, I guess it didn't feel like another minute passed and...
and that has to be a good thing,
ugh my chest hurts.
Slow down that heartbeat
Slow.
stop
breathing.
slow.
I can't.  I can slow my thoughts but not my body.  This is horrible.  Normally I can do both with disturbing ability.
1!
Yes, one minute left!
This, my friends, is why I make french press the right way.  Only four minutes of steeping.  I used to waste all this time making sure the coffee was deadly caffeinated and more bitter then cemetery dirt! HA!  almost time...
yes...
almost time
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TRIUMPH, VICTORY!
I press the plunger,  pour a cup, and
, honestly,
it wasn't as good as the last batch,
hm, wonder what I did wrong this time?