café

After a successful study session with Rachel at a café not to be named, I am relieved to be in the library. It is raining outside, and my toes are chilly. I'm not wearing socks, so the warmth of the library is going right to them. The contrast from the cold rain and the warm air is refreshing--nice to be feeling something so easy to understand.

A Hot Chip song is running through my head. I am ready to read. I am even more ready, and the weather is made even more perfect, due to the fact that the basement has a coffee vending machine.

Now, I am a barista. I know good coffee. It is not what I had at the aforementioned café. It is not crystallized granules that dissolve "instantly." But there is something oddly perfect, nostalgic and delicious about the machine that spit 75 cents worth of sucre, café et lait into my tiny, argyle paper cup. I have sucked all of the foam from my drink. Sugar lines the side and is dripping back into the water as its molecules break apart.

I am reminded of France. During my stay there, I spent 80 euro-cents a day on these tiny cups of coffee. A café court sans sucre--one in the morning after a winding walk through town and up into the university, surrounded by its crown of the Rhône Alps; one on our break, while I stood in the sun and watched girls sit in the grass and smoke.

I realize how snobby this post sounds. It is not meant to. It is me being completely humbled and simplified. For two minutes, I am removed from the thesis-mess/forgotten-papers/wedding-planning/fear-of-thieves/approach-of-bikini-season paranoia that has dominated my thinking. I am reminded of how lucky I have been. I am enjoying water and powder in a small paper cup like I am 13 again. I am able to write and read and be warm while rain smacks against the glass.

I'm looking forward to being under my puffy blankets, listening to the storm tap Morse code on my roof, telling me to remember that I'm this lucky, to keep in mind that I can only do one assignment at a time. I always told my friends that Morse code is worth learning. They never listened. It's surprising how often it seems like a logical means of communication.