Monday was the first day of my new job–I mean career–job sounds so what I was doing before what I’m doing now. I entered the kitchen to find my husband staring at our coffee pot like it had lied to him.
“It’s dead,” he said without looking up. Mr. Coffee had died on my very first day of working from home. This was a problem.
It was 6:08 a.m. Target didn’t open for another hour and 52-minutes. There was no way around it. My first assignment would be purchasing new office equipment. What kind of writer doesn’t drink coffee all day? Not this kind.
It’s funny these images we keep in our mind’s eye. I’ve wanted to be a full-time, professional writer since I started earning a paycheck. I wanted to work from home, moving from one writing assignment to the next. Hanging out on sunny afternoons, typing away at my favorite coffee shop; or, stationed in my home office on cold rainy days, wearing my yoga pants and over-sized sweatshirts. In all this imagery, there is not one scene that doesn’t include a hot mug of coffee within reach of my laptop.
Coffee is an important part of this new life I have manifested. Starting my first day without it felt like I was jumping rope without a rope. Pretending.
So, before sitting down to my laptop, I made my way through Target’s automatic doors as soon as they opened. I had my new coffee pot out of the box and brewing my favorite drink before 9:00 a.m, and my world was complete.