Last Wednesday, my coffee maker jammed halfway through it's brewing job. This happens sometimes, usually when I've ground the coffee beans too fine (which happens on those mornings that the sound of the grinder lulls me back to sleep). The good news was that the coffee did not go all over the counter and I had enough coffee to get me to work without a major meltdown.
The next morning, after cleaning up the mess (yes, I was lazy enough to leave it to the next morning), I set the machine to brewing. I said to Len I couldn't help but feel something bad was going to happen with coffee. I was imagining a caffinated explosion. After my shower, when I stumbled back into the kitchen, I discovered. Nothing. No explosion. No. Coffee. The coffee maker was on, I had indeed put water in the reservoir, but. No. Coffee. These are the times that you discover the depths of your addiction. I boiled water. I swung the basket out and brewed by hand. And was late to work. Trust me, it better than me trying to drive to work without coffee. It turns out, when the coffee maker instructions tell you to brew a pot of vinegar once a month or so, you should.
This morning I arrived at work to discover coffee dribbles down my nice white t-shirt. After quite a production in the bathroom (involving water and goodly amount of paper towel), I decided to buy some bleach at the corner store. Which got the stains out (after a similar production in the bathroom), but turned my t-shirt blue where the bleach was. Another convoluted production in the bathroom, this time involving some nasty smelling soap, my t-shirt is white again.
Something or someone is maybe trying to get me to give up coffee. Life without coffee? Not really worth living.