I used to read Murakami novels and think that no one actually drinks that much coffee. Then I grew older and my sleep habits became worse. If I was having a particularly sleepy morning, I put a pot on. My coffee maker would boil water, releasing steam into my poorly insulated Japanese apartment warming my skin, and the black gold would careen down my gullet and get me all toasty inside. I NEED this, I started to think. It soon became an institutionalized part of my morning, voted in unanimously by my Diet. Now, I can’t imagine weathering the ever-present cold of the Japanese winter without it. That’s to say nothing of weathering 8:40 English class after a week of deficient sleep.
What’s this?
What’s this?
It’s a wreck, it’s a wreck, it’s a wreck.
What’s this?
What’s this?
It’s again and again and again.
What’s this?
What’s this?
It’s a crap, it’s a crap, it’s a crap.
What’s this?
What’s this?
It’s a basket case!
I love coffee. I love being on the top of my game at work. I love it when my brain works smoothly and I can form a full sentence. I love when it makes me adept at Japanese. I love keeping up with people at work when they think I’m not listening. I love feeling my thoughts race by as I deftly grasp that tiger by its toe.
I had too much coffee today.
No comments:
Post a Comment