For the bajillionth day in a row, I looked down at the cup of coffee I made over an hour ago, reheated 20 minutes ago, and there’s still half a cup left. And it’s cold. Again.
Is it even worth heating a second time?
I say not. Because I’m a bit of a coffee snob that way. Which is why I make so many cups of coffee in a day, I assume. And because I brew in a Keurig, that’s a lot of k-cups, which is a lot of money, and a lot of waste product (I’m sorry for the environment, I get it).
It’s so disappointing, cold coffee. Not iced coffee, iced coffee is great, but it’s January. No, cold coffee that used to be hot coffee. It was supposed to be hot, and it was hot, but circumstances and neglect cooled it. And now it’s not even worth drinking.
I guess I get it; cold coffee and I have a lot of things in common actually.
I used to be one thing – this young Christian mother with this great testimony people liked hearing, an honesty about my faults, but a passion for worship and writing and family – but now, circumstances and neglect have cooled me. I numbed. I became empty and lonely and confused. And then I wasn’t worth drinking anymore.
For the record, not many people acted that way toward me – like they were just going to pour me down the drain – most people tried to reheat me, so to speak. Many of my friends and even a few of my family members tried to “rescue” me, but it was like they wanted to microwave me. Quick and easy, but I didn’t want to be gross tasting coffee. So I rebelled.
And now I’m cold coffee. In need of reheating or pouring down the drain. Cold coffee wishing I would’ve just been consumed while I was still piping hot.