An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

It's a quiet life: He works all week at the computer What does he do to relax? Sit in front of the computer. Sometimes he falls asleep like an old man in his favorite chair headphones on his head blocking out wife, kids the rest of the world. Tiptoe around him don't make a sound No one does anything no one says anything he's in his element the master of the house I do not lie I describe the ennui of my life take care of all problems soothe the screaming children and show through words why fantasy is better than real life.

Rune-carver with your knife and chisel and your magical words on the tip of your tongue stone and bone leather and wood a talisman of protection a sword that craves blood Your curses are not taken for granted. Each part of the formula is a part of the whole no bit is useless and no shortcuts will do. Each stave has a meaning. More than just an artisan you are a mage with the power of life and death in your god-laded spells.

See pure white Not an inch of ground uncovered Over miles and miles With no end in sight. It's cold outside So bundle up before stepping out the door. And make sure you're wearing hat and gloves! Flurries dart past your eyes Over your head and cling to your clothes Under your coat to melt on your skin Rivulets soak through fabric Look, children playing outside Even dogs are paddling like otters Tears of joy crystallize in ice Terrible wonderful shrieks of fun Each minute a wonderful memory Racing heartbeats during play. When will the storm let up Or will it stretch out for days? Revel in the magic of it all Dally in forgotten childhood.

The snow falls softly softly with scarcely a whisper of wind and barely a touch upon the ground. Yet wonder fills brightly brightly with such a light of happiness and hardly a word of complaint. The child watches eagerly eagerly with bated breath of anticipation and carefully a sign of no school.

Every week the bite of the needle hoping to stave off the pain for a little while. It's better than sitting in a chair for hours while medicine flows through your veins. It's better than losing a day in a drugged stupor where sleep doesn't give you rest and family resents the loss of a Saturday. None of it is your fault just a body that is falling apart. But it's better than being dead I suppose.

The problem with making yourself essential: they like you for what you do and not who you are. Your worth is measured in convenience in time in efficiency and in coin. One disruption upends their entire world the whole operation grinds to a halt but the fault is never theirs. Even worse when you aren't there as an employee: when you're there on the bond of supposed love.