A coffee mug saga

I am big on details.

Every morning is (practically) the same story. Wake up, really wake up, roll out of bed and out the door, walk into the kitchen, make coffee. I have to stop there. Because post coffee-making is where the dilemma begins. If you're like me, there is no nonchalance when it comes to the presenting of my cup of coffee. It isn't just a cup of coffee, you see. It's the first substance I'll put in my body today, it's what will determine the difference between readiness to take on the day with great fortitude and a downright pouty demeanor because I missed my morning treat. (Am I alone in this? Please tell me I'm not alone in this.) And the vessel it comes in has as much of an effect on my day as the 200+ mg's of caffeine (not to mention the mouth-drying bitterness) pumping in my blood. So, yeah, everything up to watching the coffee brew is simple compared to the next decision. You see, I can be ready at any minute of the morning to start sipping my coffee. It's what gets me out of bed in the morning, thinking about sitting with a warm mug in hand at the kitchen table, looking across the yard to the park, taking in the Pisgah National Forest mountain range that is ever-so-clear from my seat here at this table. Knowing the significance of what each morning holds, how can I not give so much care and attention to my coffee intake?

Some mornings are more difficult than others, however. You see, after pressing the big black "START" button on the Cuisinart, I (subconsciously) avoid what comes next. I turn away and walk out of the kitchen, determined to become preoccupied with another task so as not to have the next daunting decision hanging over my head as an oversized interrogation point. But this really only tends to worsen the situation. My insides know the sound of brewing coffee, and like a Pavlov dog I crave what that sound means before the aroma fills the house. And then when the coffee is ready, I am not. Because I haven't chosen my mug. I cannot just blindly grab one off of the shelf. I have to ask myself, "How am feeling today?" and, "Do I need to feel texture on my fingertips as I sip?" or, "Am I feeling overzealous enough to take on the 20 ounce cup? Or should I not give my hands too much to handle?" Usually after about 30 seconds of working through my needs, emotions, determination, and everything else that factors into this integral part of my day, I can pluck a mug hanging from the wall (almost) fully satisfied, hoping with crossed fingers that I've made the right choice for myself. But what made this mornings decision all the more elongated was this; my roommate has been decorating for Christmas you see, and unbeknownst to me she threw up some snowman mugs where once hung the everyday ones. I had to step back. Where did these come from? Oh, my coffee can't go in that! That's for Christmas, not coffee. How could she do this? She uses the same mug everyday without getting in touch with her inner self and asking how she needs to take her coffee that day. It is so easy for her. Dang it, what do I do?

I cool my jets, that's what. I get over myself, pick up one of the new mugs, grab the pot, and pour. Sometimes the comfort zone that I have created for myself weirds me out, so I'm sure others are even more baffled. But I just wasn't ready to be in the Christmas spirit, okay? I guess that from time to time I just have to be a pushover for myself. Or am I a pushover for Frosty? Yes, that sounds more like it.