Flight Of The Mug

I am by turns sloppy and fastidious- sometimes Oscar, occasionally Felix. In my best moments, always in my intent, I'm the latter. I want to eat only in the 'dining room' where there's tiled floor, but am unable to stick to my discipline, and so I eat many meals before my computer or the tv set. That being the case, there is constant risk of a pervasive and constant nature akin to the boiler on some old wooden sailing vessel. It is one of the worrying things that ages me.

An excellent example is my coffee. I make enough for two cups most mornings, and usually have one to spare- supposing there's the need to share with roommates or unexpected visitors? In movies, they always say something like "Can I get you a cup of coffee? Just made some fresh". Who doesn't wish they were that larger-than-life figure on the silver screen? In any case, this digression has gone far enough. The coffee is an invigorating start to the day, but it is also my enemy.

The thing is that it's like a captured fugitive. Perhaps you recall the comical thug Tuco of 'The Good, The Bad And The Ugly'? At one point he has been captured by malicious forces and is being transported to his doom, but he has no intention of going quietly. That's precisely what my cup of coffee must be thinking if vessels of beverage are capable of any cognitive powers. The coffee wants to spill as a villainous strike against me, the oppressor.

My way is to take it slowly. It's unnatural for me to do so, but I slow things way down. Every part of me bends so that the arm clutching the coffee does not. I watch intently the level of the coffee in the mug, responding with further slowness if it is too active. There is too much at stake to risk total ruin for the sake of saving a few moments. How pathetic that seems when there is a stain on the rug! As they say, it's later than you think, but you further diminish the value of what little time we have in this life by hurrying.