I’m not proud of it. I know it’s not right. I know I should do better. I know I’m setting a crappy example for my children, and possibly giving my five month old a serious addiction as well. But I flat out need the coffee, all the time, and accidentally didn’t finish my afternoon cup and can’t keep my eyes open now. It’s not even nine o’clock and I’m exhausted.
I start off the morning with a hot cup of coffee. I don’t even really taste the first cup, but by the time I pour the second one, I’m awake enough to really, really enjoy it. Not too smoking hot, but hot, light, with two sugars. Sometimes, if it’s been a rough night or appears to be shaping up to a rough day, I’ll have three cups in the morning. And then mid-afternoon, I brew another pot. At least one cup, sometimes two. My outer limit is three cups in the morning, two in the afternoon.
All is delightful in my world today – Marc decided that he would devote himself to heavy housecleaning as opposed to reading economics blogs. The problem, as he explained it to me, is that he needs to do something during the day, and is fine with interspercing housework with serious intellectual study. As this means that I don’t have to do dishes, I’m all the way delighted. We’re sort of in a holding pattern, waiting to get the unemployment straightened out, waiting to find out what courses he can take and get paid for, etc. So for now, it’s just the Marc and Melissa show – and I really like it š
Recent Comments