I awaken, and set myself some goals for my day off and I have managed to do half of them before I’ve even thought about feeding myself. But it is time to have a coffee, a cold brew fermenting overnight with a hazelnuß creamer to take the edge off. Sitting in my chair, legs crossed gently rocking myself to the sounds of the squirrels running up, or maybe down, the tree outside my window, I can’t tell whether the sound is coming towards or away from me to make that distinction as I sip coffee, through a metallic straw. I feel the coffee trickle down my throat and refresh me after a night where I didn’t wake up during the middle of the night due to unpleasant night terrors. The coffee is a little bitter and I circle the straw around the small iceberg in the glass to see if that helps to mix it a wee bit more. It does not, and I sigh, getting up to add some more creamer to it, and return to my chair. I could have tried it while I was in the kitchen, but that would be far too sensible. The coffee is thankfully improved and I press the cold glass against my chest, causing a little chill to my breastbone. My plants are looking a little dry, and it would be unfair to sit here and hydrate myself ahead of my needy, green pets. I fill the spray bottle, and watch as the droplets fall from their leaves, onto the windowsill, some onto the soil. I never know how much to give them, the stickered label on the side of the pot has one raindrop icon. Since I do not arbitrarily measure things in raindrops, I am none the wiser as to this measurement scale and scoosh and spray until I feel like the soil is looking a little damp. The condensation from my coffee glass has collected, and I look down at the floor, coasters unoccupied, their corky purpose of collecting water going unfulfilled. The plants are looking a lot better and I sit back, picking up the glass and sipping from it, and now it is my turn to be refreshed, both from the coffee, and from the cold droplets falling onto my skin.
Balcony coffee 