So I had a bad night last night. Well. It started pretty good, but then I found out that a friend, a fellow Crohns patient passed away. Unfortunately I found this out while I was at a bar… 40 minutes from my house. Thank the lord I wasn’t drunk or anything, but it lead to a long, nearly hysterical ride home. While I will miss my friend, and while this hits way too close to home, it’s the 3rd time in recent past that I’ve lost someone, and if there’s two things I have learned from all of this nonsense is to hold your loved ones close and to remember to keep moving forward. So I will say goodbye and move forward. Rest in Peace Aaron.
That being said. I’m trying to pick my mood up off the ground. I am. So I busted out my Dark Chocolate Coffee. This coffee is basically contraband. Or it should be. And that’s how we treated it when I received it. One of my coffee-date-friends had told me about this coffee. She described it as “Sex in my Mouth”. So I begged for some and promised I wouldn’t have to excuse myself. So the next time we met up, in the parking lot of the joint we both frequent, she calls me over to her car. I hustle over there, noticing she parked in the darkest corner of the lot. Then she stuffs a plastic baggy in my jacket pocket and pushes me into the coffee shop. I just chuckled and said “What the hell? Is that a baggy of weed or something?” as she shoved me through the doors. She said “No, it’s just the most addictive coffee. Ever.” and left it at that.
So I finally got around to making a pot today. Oh. My. God. My house smells like melting chocolate and rich coffee, I need to invest in an incense like this! It tastes? Like Dark Chocolate.
I literally had to sit down and enjoy my first cup in silence. I turned off my computer, cell and radio and just relaxed with my coffee. It truly is contraband. I wonder if she’ll give me another 8th.
So beyond that, I’m thankful for my Dad. He’s coming over today so we can start on my living room floor. I’m sooo excited. I’m grateful to him for that, and because of the fact that he’s going to be here this evening, I have to get up and do my dishes and move furniture and such. There is no moping about today. I have no choice. Besides, for the nights/days that my daughter isn’t here? I live like a bachelorette and I suppose it’s not fitting to have your father over and have bras dangling on everything possible, make up all over the sink and… is that? Seriously? A thong on my bookshelf? Gah. It has frills. I need to stop being in such a rush to get dressed, and stop leaving clothes in the dryer.
Don’t worry Dad. I’m cleaning.