Coffee and Getting Shit Done

Right. I’ve locked myself in my room, and I’m going to get this fucking shit done. Ok. I’ll just make myself a coffee first. I leave my room, and walk out on the tiles, should have worn slippers, the tiles are freezing. In the kitchen I wash the mug I decide to use, the one that has a picture of Bugs Bunny on it, and a spoon. I always lose baby spoons. I don’t know where they go to, but for some reason I find myself buying baby spoons every other month. Forks last for years. And big spoons? Forget about it. At least two. There must be a baby spoon thief.

            The kettle boils up, shaking the counter-top as it approaches the boil. The steam rises and condenses, forming little waterdrops on my woodwork kitchen unit. Two spoons of coffee, or three? Three would keep me up all night, and possibly give me the shakes. But it’d be some craic. Nah, I’ll go for two, play it safe for tonight. Better safe than sorry. The aroma of coffee, goddamn. I’ve been cutting down on sugar lately, so the one spoon, not heaped, will do the trick.

            Ah, coffee. Right, so I’ll just clean up the desk so I can get this shit done, finally. Magazines over here. Wrappers, old receipts and stray pages in the bin over there. There’s I Am Legend! I’ve been meaning to read this. I really enjoyed the movie with Will Smith. I wonder if it’s similar, or completely different. Sure I’ll read a few pages, and then get my shit done.

            This is nothing like the movie! Ok, it’s sort of similar, but there are so many drastic differences! I drain the last of my coffee, it’s always cold and too sweet at the end.

            I boot up my laptop and lay back on my bed, quick check of the emails it is so. It makes the usual droning Apple sound that sounds a little out of kilter with the modern looking machine. Two hours later I am none the wiser what I have been doing all that time. I remember Facebook. And Twitter. And an episode of Peep Show. What a television show. They don’t make enough of it.

            I throw all my stray clothes into the washbasket, and throw on some music to psyche myself up for getting my shit done. I love this album. Definitely Alter Bridge’s best album to date. I decide, as it gets a little later, to throw on something a little more laid back. Beatle’s Revolver. Definitely their best album. I pick up my guitar and strum through a few of the chords. That string section on Eleanor Rigby, flawless.

            Christ, its one in the morning. I’ve got work at nine. Right, I’ve got everything set to get my shit done tomorrow night.

            Right. Ok. The following night I make myself a cup of coffee, where the fuck are all the baby spoons?