In which there has been Expresso and Writing

Today has been a wonderful kind of day.  I slept for eight hours last night as opposed to by usual 6 – 7 (the oj and vodka probably helped with that) and woke up feeling refreshed.  I bit the bullet and shaved my legs (silky smooth, why must it take forever to get you that way, huh?), and then I went to my favorite coffee shop down the road, laptop in hand.

Or, well, in bag, because I’ll not tempt fate by taking it outside without it’s protection cover.  Which makes it sound like a condom and my computer a di-


So, yes.  Coffee shop.  I bought my usual cup of lemon/lime ice cream, plugged in my headphones, and started banging away at the keys.  I got about 3k words down, which is pretty damn awesome for me.  This happened mostly because I accidentally pressed a button and shut off the wifi finder thingy so I had no internet.

No internet = much more productivity.  Take notes.

So, yeah, I was writing away at a pretty good clip.  Then the barista came over with a tall cup of something.  Apparently she made one too many on an order and wondered if I wanted the coffee?  And so I was all:

Because, hell, free drink.

I normally don’t drink coffee.  Caffeine has never done anything for me.  I’ve had coffee at night and still gone to bed without any trouble, because it’s the sugar that gives me a boost.  Once I figured that out I went with frappuccinos, because they had enough sweetness to damage a young child’s brain while keeping me going, and then I switched to chai tea, because it’s kinda sometimes healthier and tastes like Christmas.

But I digress.

So, free drink.  Barista warned me, “It has two shots of expresso.”  I’m like, pfft, doesn’t matter.  So I drink it.

Gods and weasels, I don’t know what kind of drink it was, but fuck, that thing was bitter, and a reminder of why I don’t drink coffee straight.  Because regular coffee sucks.

Still, free drink, right?  I mean, waste not, want not, don’t reject a gift and all, so I kept drinking it.  Didn’t notice anything at first because I was getting into the groove of my story and I had my headphones and some background music going that created a sound barrier between my inner monologue and the soccer moms yammering on about diapers and Avon.

Then I suddenly hit this warp speed escalator that was like:

And I stopped writing, took my fingers away from the keyboard because, whoa.

Expresso hit me like a brick of clarity right to the cerebral cortex.  I looked around the shop and out to the pine trees across the highway.  The colors seemed brighter, the air crisper, like a veil had been ripped away from my eyes and, holy fuck, I shed all my normal edge of weariness and was friggin’ awake.

Then I went back to the computer and took off on another scene.

So, apparently expresso works on me.  And by works I mean helped me churn out a scene that had been percolating (HAHA, coffee pun!  *crickets* *coughs* I apologize) for, like, weeks, and helped me bridge a gap that had become a chasm.

So, thanks expresso!  *sloppy kisses*

But, as cool an experience as that was, I probably won’t be having that again.  I did mention how bitter it was, right?  And I’m sure that I could cover it up by asking for enough cream and hazelnut to turn it into a hot bastardization of its original form, but I’m wise-ish enough to know that would be a Bad Idea with capitol letters.  Still, I now understand why some people drink that on a daily basis.

I just won’t be among them.

And now I am off to continue my writing and to wind down.  I have to go to bed early in order to wake up at 4am on a Saturday for a road trip.  I pray to Weasel that the expresso will have run its course enough to let me get some sleep.



©Shiloh Ohmes 2013


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