Dear Coffee, we have a problem.

It begins with me pushing that familiar door open to be hit by the most addictive perfume in the world. We have all known and grown to adore these special places in the world, that I can only wish I could call home. It is where the ambience is pristinely caffeinated.

Starbucks.

Sometimes I wish I could say enough about the way I feel about it but then rationale tells me that no one can take another book on coffee or that from me. So, the most I do is to commemorate over and over the grand day when Starbucks added Hazelnut Macchiato to its core lineup.

Bases of white mugs grinding against their plates, hubbub of whispered conversations and clatter of coins in the cash register sing into the cacophony. This and the monotony of smiling faces made pleasant only by the ever refreshing sight of my filled mug ready and waiting for me. Immediately, my hands claim the warmth and the eyes ogle the crisscross pattern of the hazelnut syrup atop the macchiato.

Having had coffee everyday back in India, I had lived oblivious of the significant lack in my mere concept of coffee. And when it, the concept, changed, it went from a singular plain beaten espresso to an extensive range of lattes, mochas, macchiatos, filters and frappes. Back in the day, my fantasies fuelled by the HBO repeats, had shown me in a navy blue trench coat striding towards a cafe on a rainy noon to be greeted by the barista who already knew how I like my coffee. Then one portentous day in the recent past it happened to me, the barista at Starbucks had remembered my order and recited it for me with a proud smile as soon as he saw me. He really did! (Only that the trench coat looked more like a lousy blue hoodie) And hence, my loyalties were sold to Starbucks for life. 

I am all about the right lighting, the right music and the right coffee before I begin with my university assignments. Thus, we don’t have to look too far to understand how I manage to procrastinate everything

But that day I did start with my technical drawing as soon as my coffee was home. The fleeting interest in the work at hand was in sync with the degrees of temperature the macchiato lost. 3 hours, a few initial decent sketches and tired zigzags/angry scribbles later, I adjourned the sketches until after a *short* walk. The walk didn’t happen. TV did.

Guilt is a cruel (b)itch. If you ignore it, it will just come back to you, only getting worse with time.

Hard as I might try to concentrate on the TV, my eyes kept roving off to that mug. That mug of dead cold Hazelnut Macchiato sitting in the midst of heaps of A3 paper and overflowing binders taunted me. Like my mother, screaming at me what exactly I should be doing as opposed to what I was.

I cussed. Coffee hasn’t done me any good and still before I know it, it’s forgiven and I am 3 steps away from the green-white Starbucks signboard.

How one time I had tried to challenge myself with a whole Venti Filter coffee, and had ended up with an extreme, almost feverish caffeine rush.

How one time the White Caffe Mocha had put me to an untimely sleep. Yeah, I am still a baby when it comes to milk!

Also, how on countless nights I hadn’t gotten sleep due to some erratic strong caffeine reaction.

And now, how this mostly empty mug of Macchiato was giving me such a tough time.

You know what I did.

I am a believer of anticlimaxes.

And albeit the cold (pun intended) stares from the coffee mug,

I paused the TV, got up from my more than comfortable position on the bed, walked to the desk, sat on my chair, stretched, and finally put an end to my misery.

I drained the last bit of the stale coffee down my throat and settled back in bed.

Moral of the story: We are not perfect. And our daily goals in life are more often than not, way over the bar of practicality and cannot be met.

There. I am back at Yeah Write to join the bunch of awesome writers. And picking up my daily dose of  great blogs!