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

Too much too little too loud too demure too shabby too perfect too tiny too tall. no redeeming features no outstanding qualities no soft curves no defined lines no bright colors no variation in hue no heart or soul no sense of restraint. If everyone can't agree on what is 'acceptable' then why bother following an arbitrary set of rules? Everyone's a critic with their own opinion that certainly isn't a fact.

 The wind blows over the carpet of leaves spinning lazily about dancing between the trees as their bare branches sway too and fro greeting the gales of winter. The world sleeps under a blanket of gray the frosty morning light touches all with chill even as all are drowsy deep underground or burrowed beneath heavy blankets. The Gods watch as the predator swims through the the drifts of white searching for a hapless straggler to fill its belly for the short time of its perilous existence. The time ticks way too slowly for the ones who cling to the hope of spring and too quickly for the ones who enjoy the warmth of home at the fire's hearth.

 I wish I can tell you just how much effort it takes me just to go through the day. How many cups of coffee or sugary tea I need to function with a somewhat clear mind. The many times I need to get up and walk around exercise stiff joints only to sit in front of a screen again. The fake smiles and reassurances so that your world remains smooth and unbothered.