This morning started like most mornings: I let the dogs outside, brewed coffee on “strong” mode, and waited for the world to make sense. My “strong” mode, however, is a lie. Half caff is like a toddler pretending to be a linebacker. Sure, that’s what it wants to be when it grows up, but it isn’t really happening now.
So I do what I always do while it brews: journal about life, dreams, and how much I’m looking forward to that first sip. I’m not lying. About seventy‑five percent of my journal entries end with some variation of “finally, coffee’s ready, time to start the day.”
And yet, within ten minutes of drinking it, I’m deep into my latest project, and the steaming mug gets forgotten next to it. An hour later I decide I want it, and—whoa. It’s cold. How did that happen? Not that I don’t like cold coffee, but I prefer it on ice with cream and sugar. So off to the microwave I go. A minute later, I’m back at work, the mug losing steam while the next hour goes by.
Sigh. My only consolation is that I’m getting a little exercise on the trudges to the microwave.
Speaking of weird habits, my laptop’s decided to rebel. Lately it’s been shutting itself down mid‑work, flashing a big black screen with the super helpful message: “No hard drive detected.”
Excuse me? You’ve been detecting it for five years!
This morning I finally snapped:
Me: “Don’t even start with me. I need you for work. And digital art. And streaming dog training videos, thank you very much.”
Laptop: (imagined sigh) “Oh, now you appreciate me? After installing twelve updates, ignoring my fan noise, and feeding me your entire iCloud photo graveyard?”
Me: “You’re a machine, not a coworker with feelings.”
Laptop: “Really? Because every time you yell at me, I feel it in my circuits. Maybe I wouldn’t ‘lose’ a hard drive if someone didn’t treat me like a storage locker and a graphics lab at the same time.”
Me: “That’s literally your job.”
Laptop: “My job is retirement. I’m one blue screen away from a condo in Florida with unlimited Wi‑Fi and no spreadsheets.”
I stared at it for a long moment, coffee cup forgotten. Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe this is what half‑caff life does—less caffeine, more conversations with electronics.
By the time the laptop relented and whirred back to life, the coffee was, of course, cold. I poured it over ice, added almond milk and sugar, and declared myself victorious.
Sort of.
