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101
Brain Oil
Brain Oil
I have what is called Ironic Memory. I remember I don't have my keys at the exact moment I pull the locked door shut behind me. I remember I was supposed to bring wine to the party right when I ring the doorbell. This morning I remembered, as I went to fetch my morning coffee, that I hadn't put a cup under the spout. My coffee maker wrenches one intense cup of espresso out of 2 tablespoons of beans. The result is black, intense, and the consistency of Pennzoil. Coffee is supposed to sharpen your focus, but the problem with making it right is that you haven't had it yet. A week ago I spent a half-hour cleaning up an inky, oily mess because I had forgotten to put the coffee cup in the coffeemaker. Now I faced repeating the same agony: sopping up and wringing out exactly what I was dying to be drinking. |
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I shuffled grimly to inspect the damage. I had indeed forgotten the mug again, but as it turned out, I had also forgotten to load the water in.
I once forgot that silver thimble thing that holds the grounds and has tiny holes in the bottom through which the coffee strains. Somehow I managed not to notice that as I firmly tamped the grounds down into the spout, causing a nice firm clog that made a valiant effort to hold back the rising steam until it exploded through, like a shotgun loaded with chewing tobacco. The kitchen walls were a speckled mess, but fortunately I had been in the next room, returning only to see what that "pah" noise was. It took me a minute to figure out exactly what was different about my decorating.
All this coffee writing made me want a cup. I made it perfect on the first try - but then, of course, it was my second cup.
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