catch yourself yawning. catch yourself yawning another three times. you have already eaten breakfast, you do not want a snack.
caffeine does not appeal to you. fumble through your tea drawer, shuffling through packets of loose teas, boxes and tins of tea bags, the one chocolate bar you bought overseas that you can’t bear to part with yet. decide on cinnamon vanilla. bring the teabag to your face, inhale deeply and savor the scent.
find your feet again after sitting for two and a half hours. grab your mug and walk to the kitchen. trip over yourself and hope nobody saw. rinse the remnants of last week’s tea in the sink, swirl the water around and pour it back. fill more, throw the tea bag in the cool water and throw it in the microwave.
watch david hasselhoff’s smiling face stare back at you in circles for a minute and a half.
pull the mug from the microwave. hold it up to your face and inhale again, this time breathing in the steam and smells. grab a separate cup and fill it with cold milk and bring it back to your desk.
open the bottom drawer and grab the sugar supply you keep there. there is not enough sugar in the world to make tea palatable, but you try. pour and pour and occasionally watch the sugar sizzle when it hits the surface of the tea while the bag steeps. wait.
use your stirring spoon to take a sip of the blisteringly hot tea. it is too hot to drink, but sweet enough. remove the tea bag, but bounce it a little to steal any last drops it may be holding. pour milk in until it begins to cloud and matches the color of your hand. stir. smell a third time.
it is still too hot to drink, so stare at it for twenty minutes, ignoring the work you really should be doing.
take a sip. add more milk. it is finally at a temperature you can tolerate.
congratulate yourself for being an adult.