Only On A Sunday

After a lovely evening out with my tribe members, I woke up this morning with a renewed outlook. I needed some estrogen time. I needed to be outside, eating dinner, pretending, at least for a couple of hours, that 2020 is full of rainbows and butterflies. I even put on makeup and wore something other than yoga pants. It felt a bit normal.

So, this morning, I took my renewed outlook to the joy machine aka my Keurig. The machine gurgled as it came to life. I pressed the button and waited for the magic to happen. Then I realized that I had picked the wrong cup size. Instead of the large, I had selected the mid-size. Well, that won’t do, so I opt for a second run, picking a smaller cup selection, so it fills the rest of my mug. Ugh. As I am watching the liquid flow, I am realizing that using the same pod a second time results in mostly water. You see, I like my coffee to punch me in the face. It has to be bold. None of that weak shit. And when I say “punch me in the face”, I don’t mean literally. But, with how this year is unfolding, I have no doubt that will be a thing. Anyway, I decide I am simply going to start over. You now, put a new pod in and be more mindful of pressing the correct cup size. I remove my mug in an effort to empty it in the sink. Liquid is leaking out everywhere. I am baffled at the source. Once emptied, I realize that there is a crack on the bottom. My favorite fucking cup is now dead to me. Thanks 2020. You were already officially, the worst year in the history of years. But, I thought today might be different. I raise both of my middle fingers to salute you, as I have done every day since March.

The “joy machine” finally delivered my caffeine to me after a rough start. I frowned at the lame mug I am forced to use. I suppose I will go on Amazon in search of a new cup that is badass, probably highly inappropriate and extremely sarcastic. 2020, I hope karma finds you and when it does, I want a front row seat.

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