coming-of-age coffee

Hello, all you dear friends to whom I have not written in something like forever. Like forever, but not quite.

I'm beginning to form a pattern with my blogging. Post on Friday. Don't post again until Tuesday. Disheartening it is.

Where have I been? Well, for the most part, I've been flying through life by the seat of my pants, I tell you. I've gone from being the procrastinator who waits until the day before to do things and have become the lunatic who doesn't even begin major projects until the day they are due. That has been the story of my past two days. In less than forty-eight hours, I've written a paper on King Lear, a play which I did not quite do anything like read, graded three student essays, written up an observation, and diligently searched for five articles that I would, in the same sitting, read and write analyses of. This might not seem like too much, but consider that each of those assignments were completed only moments before they were turned in. But believe me. I do not make myself out to be a martyr of academia. I'm an idiot.

I am the proud owner of my first real coffee pot. Well, I did have a chintzy little four-cupper that I kept around for Mom's sake, but she always said it was a piece of junk. I didn't really care because, hey, I didn't drink coffee. Until this weekend. I don't know what happened to me, but over one weekend, I've become a coffee drinker. It's like a coming-of-age, really. When I told Mom, she sounded proud. I was a little confused because I don't see caffeine addiction and coffee breath as things to be proud of, but I guess I've finally joined the ranks of adulthood in my family. I don't know. But I will have freshly brewed coffee at 7:00 tomorrow morning. And strangely enough, that is exciting.