My life. Work and boys. It’s not a balancing act. Hell, it’s not even an act. It’s a public shit show. I’m the ringmaster in charge of these carnies. This ringmaster enjoys bourbon after a show, but before the show she requires coffee.
I drink only a few things. Most days it’s two cups of half caff coffee then a bottle of water, refilled 5 or so times at work and then another bottle of water at home. Occasionally, anymore, I’ll add bourbon in the evening. Or beer. If I need a little pick me up or if I’m just in the mood I’ll grab a Coke or sweet tea. I’m very boring. Wait. I forgot about heavenly chocolate milk. That’s more like a monthly craving but a must have.
I have a relationship with all of these things just as I do with bourbon. I don’t need it, I like it. I want bourbon to calm me down. I need coffee to start me up. Too much bourbon and it burns me. Coffee, literally, fucking burns me.
I’ve drank it on and off for years. Black, sugar only, sugar and milk, sugar and my newest obsession, International Delight’s caramel macchioto creamer. I used to drink it on the way to work, even before kids. And because it’s so hot and I’ve spent so many days not tasting lunch from burning my tongue I’ve always preferred a mug over a travel mug with a top. Which makes too much sense! The problem is I’m not the best at walking, driving, life in general. I spill it. A lot. And often.
My car is sticky. I’ve been late numerous times for having to turn around to go home and change pants. Then there’s just the not thinking or bad luck. Not remembering to set the brew delay. Setting it for PM not AM. Not remembering to put in water. Forgetting the coffee. Coffee grinds in the coffee, yuck! Then on mornings like today’s I just blow it all out by walking out the door, late, carrying everything the boys and I require for one day (arms full) and crush it!
I just reached for the key I was forgetting on the counter and crash! My half caff, sugared, warm, caramel macchiato flavored lifeline is now splattered on the floor, dripping down the cabinet, the wall. It’s then that I keep my cool, this, itself is a miracle, and didn’t even cuss. But my oldest? With his sometimes hard-to-decipher speech says clearly, “Dammit”.
Oh, yes. My little carny has a dirty mouth. I just sigh and repeat what I’ve said a dozen times, “We don’t say that.” The truth is I do. A lot.
Only one cup of coffee in today folks, it’s not pretty. It’s days that start like this when an evening bourbon tempts me. Tonight, however, I think I will be washing my own mouth out with soap.