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

Sometimes being blunt still cuts like a knife. "I'm being honest. I know you wouldn't want me to lie." That is quite true but how you phrase it can affect how your 'truth' is taken. You have no idea They said that you 'cannot read the room'. That you cannot put yourself in another's shoes. It is either right or wrong black or white and there is no such thing as levels of grey. It hurts to be on the receiving end of your 'honest truth'. You pride yourself on being direct, to the point but you never see the tears as you tear me apart analyze everything I've done 'wrong'.

 In times of trouble at least I have this: the need to write to express whatever lies in my heart the will to create and carve a little bit of sunshine within the dark clouds. the softness of heart to realize that these days will not last forever and after the rain the sun will shine again.

Jokes can be funny if it is shared by all involved if it is cute and witty and all in good fun. Nowadays there is little to laugh about with the world going to hell and people being cruel and mean spirited. A good knee-slapper can uplift the spirit strengthen bonds between us a shared story to remember We need to laugh again find the humor in life take it one day at a time one chuckle at a time

Can't say no cannot refuse they've been so nice to me everyone says how lucky I am to have them in my life. I smile and nod outwardly agree but inside I am screaming my voice is stifled every idea every want taken and given dominated by what they think is best I have more than most Little struggle, much harmony that's what it looks from the outside but behind closed doors my body is a marionette and they pull the strings my mind is encased programmed to do their will.

The Muse perched on my shoulder She gave me a gentle nudge: "Take a break you are very tired life has been hectic Take this time to refresh and refocus You cannot write when the well has run dry." In some ways, she is right as much as I try the words would not come. "Do not force it it will come out wrong stilted and flavorless this is not you. These are not your words this is not your melody." I've ignored her advice before much to my detriment. Exhaustion caught up and smothered my voice. So now I will listen and curl up and hibernate interpret my blissful dreams and new ideas on paper.

Return triumphant he wears an apron that says "Kiss the Cook" meat seasoned to perfection sun shines brightly outside he whistles on the patio keeps a watchful eye on the charcoal and the hot flames below He's not the only one the neighbors come out of hibernation it's one huge party of who can master the subtle art of cooking with fire.