Cups of Coffee

Labels: , By Jessie Fey on Thursday, July 28, 2011

The first one I enjoyed: on my way to a 7:30 a.m. writing class during my senior year of high school. August, 2008.
Since Christmas, 2009: from my single-cup Keurig coffeemaker that brews the perfect cup. I reheat it twice before finishing.
On school or work days: before I leave, a few sips while I close my eyes. The rest on the ten-minute drive down Chapman Avenue.
At the Starbucks on Chapman Avenue: while studying for finals, visiting old friends, eavesdropping, during a job interview, and when my aunt told me she and my cousin would be moving. Also while beginning to write this while avoiding studying for finals.
On summer mornings when my mom is home, as we solve the problems of the world together. Just not our own.
After breaking up with a boyfriend I loved but hadn’t been in love with for a while, and understanding that such a thing was a) possible and b) alright. May, 2010.
Throughout my trip to Hungary last summer, when no amount could keep me from falling asleep between teaching English classes. June 25-July 14, 2010.
The morning of my twentieth birthday, thinking about how weird birthdays are, and how I’d like to hang on to a few parts of nineteen a little longer. Maybe a few parts of the rest of the teens, too. March 26, 2011.
Last night, to keep me awake long enough to finish a story.
In Mammoth last summer before hiking. The girls poured coffee while the boys poured beer, and we scoffed at them. July, 2010.
At dinner with my oldest friend. We talked about how much we loved it. Winter, 2010.
At a café by the beach with a boy I spent an effortlessly splendid summer with, as he told me adding sweetener would ruin it. He drank a hot chocolate. Summer, 2010.
April of this year, while sitting on my bathroom floor with the lights off, using the leaking faucet as an anesthetic.
June of this year, while walking on a boardwalk in San Diego with three of my favorite people, as we discussed how much life is going to change.
My first introduction. After I spit it out my mom said to me, wise as she is, “Someday you’ll understand.” Winter, 2004.
Driving home from Las Vegas on three hours of sleep with the alcohol still seeping through my pores. I fell asleep at the wheel and we’re all alive. December 23, 2010.
The morning I found out I got the job. January 1, 2011. Actually, it was probably the afternoon, considering the date.
In Long Beach Airport waiting to board my first solo flight, trying to decide how I felt about being alone in an airport and all the metaphors that go along with it. April 16, 2011.
Eating breakfast with my best friend before leaving Boston, as we discussed the previous night’s success(es). April 21, 2011.
On the plane ride home, hoping I’d touch down anywhere else. April 21, 2011.
Thursday mornings this summer, slugging on the couch watching really shitty reality television that I record. (Don’t worry, I don’t watch that show about weird addictions. However, as a psych major I feel it might be necessary…for scientific purposes. Just like it’s necessary for me to watch Teen Mom…for sociological purposes.)
Last week while working at the Costa Mesa store, sullenly going over the latest idea for the novel that may not ever get written. July 22, 2011.
Tomorrow morning on the way to work, joyfully scribbling down in my Field Notes notebook the next idea for the novel that will get written, eventually.


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