Life on Auto-Drip

It's that moment when you relinquish control.  You accept the madness that is coming to you.  You find your life is much easier to cope with when you have a routine.

Routine.

You wake up.  The darkness of the morning is blinding.  You are not sure if you are still asleep or if you are sleep walking.  The night before was a blur.  The only thing you can remember is the pot of coffee you have set up to start brewing precisely as you enter the shower to wash the smells of sleep or other extracurricular activities you happened to have partaken in off.

Routine.

Fill the pot with water.  3 scoops of coffee in a filter.  Set timer.

Routine.

You exit the shower still dripping.  Teeth brushed, face shaved, clothes on, and tie tied.

Routine.

You blankly kiss your spouse good by, just as you see the first peeks of sunlight over the roofs across the street out your second story window.

Routine.

The trek down the stairs is long.  Your back is still a little stiff.  Maybe you over did it last night?  Maybe you don't care.

Routine.

The cup is waiting on the counter for you.  Anxiously waiting to do it's duty.  A vessel of salvation.  You pour your coffee.  The rich smell of the Arabica beans.  The sound of the cup filling up.  The snap of the lid.  The first sip.

Routine.

You grab your car keys, jacket, and the lunch a certain 7 year old made for you on your way out the door.

Routine.

This is my life, on auto-drip.

*photo credit is here