To speak, or not to speak to me in the morning? That, cannot be a serious fucking question. For some reason, when I wake, I am in my own little world. I need time to breathe, and do my own little morning routine before people invade my personal bubble. It’s my bubble. Not yours. Buy your own damn bubble.
For some other sick and delusional reason – people of this damn earth cannot seem to grasp this concept. Maybe I’m speaking in tongues in the wee hours of the morning? Shrug. Who knows. I am not approachable before coffee. In fact, I am a Grouchy Tiger, Hidden Dragonbreath asshat as soon as my feet hit the floor. I shuffle towards the kitchen, turn on The Bunn (because why the hell wait more than 3 minutes for coffee? 4 is just absurd) and wait impatiently with my face inches from the dripping deliciousness.
Diva (my mother dearest) is the same way. She will cuss a mutha out. Quick. Maybe throw a spoon at your face, and put a hex on you at the same time, I don’t know – it’s very mysterious. I don’t get too close usually, unless I have put a cup on the table before she rises from her dark slumber, then sloooooowly inch it towards her hand with the end of her witchy broom stick. From around the corner, I might add. Because I’m one talented daughter.
I am old, therefore I need coffee. If you are old, and do not need it, you are Satan.
Who doesn’t need coffee?? Really. What sorcery is that? I don’t get the whole ‘waking up excited for the day and smiling with sunshine flying out my ass‘ attitude.
I mean, don’t get me wrong – life is a blessing and I am thankful to still be alive and on this planet, but that takes me at least…. THREE to 4, maaaaaaybe 8 cups o’ jet fuel to feel like that.
Seriously though, guys… I’m not addicted to coffee.
Its addicted to me.