As morning dawns, I never know what to expect, dragging myself from the deepest recesses of slumber, wondering what torture is this;
shuffling to the kitchen, full yawn engaged, picking my way through animals eagerly awaiting their breakfast while tired and blurry-eyed I anxiously brew the only thing that makes me feel human;
I am not a morning person and have never claimed to be, but the aroma from those magic beans almost makes it seem possible to speak to others;
lifting my cup to greet the day, somewhere between wake and sleep, greedily taking that first invigorating sip, only then do I realize I might make it after all;
even if I can't hide in my sweatpants all day.