You've been awake for an hour but the dense fog hasn't worn off your weekend beleaguered brain. You've managed to slog yourself through breakfast, dressing yourself, and maneuvering your vehicle through mind numbing traffic to arrive at your subdued office environment complete with neutral tones and subtle splashes of color that do nothing to stimulate your senses. You fire up your computer and squint at the garish light blazing from the screen. You stammer an expletive under your breath, clutch for your empty mug and trudge down the austere hallway in the direction of your solace. After what feels like an eternity, a million millions of steps, you arrive at your mecca. The break room door feels heavy as you push it forward to grant yourself entry. Your pounding steps sound blasphemous breaking the hushed silence as you approach the altar. You raise your mug to the shrine and with sanctimonious grace press your hand down on the silver pump. The soft hiss of liquid streaming into your mug tugs a gentle smile to the corner of your unpracticed mouth. The glorious elixir, the morning marvel, the hot cuppa joe, is almost yours to consume. You fill your mug to the top and step back with both hands framing the ceramic to steal the warmth and protect it's precious contents. You lean against the counter and bring the cup to your lips. It's nearly scalding and just barely cool enough to drink and that's the way you prefer it. The smell is intoxicating, rich, bitter, black. You tip your mug back and the first sip of coffee plays over your tastebuds as you sigh in satisfaction. You've done it. You've started your Monday. You stand up straight and take sure steps towards the break room door, you throw it open and walk confidently down the hall to where your glowing screen awaits.
Creative enthusiast, gregarious naturalist, opinionated activist, RYT 200. Amy Kay Czechowicz is completing a poetry challenge for 2018 by posting an original poem daily to this blog!