Coffee.

The first sip of a mug of exceptionally bad coffee is memorable in the same way that a fond thought about a really bad evening is. There is nothing redeeming about that sip. The sip tells you to "take me as I am, addict, drink me down, and come back for more." There is no pretense to this. There is no rationalization to it.

Part of me longs to ignore the call of this so-called beverage, and wait for a pleasurable mug of coffee in my home, with my music*, and my couches, and my books** and my dog; a chain coffee house developed for me and me alone. There is always the option of the several very good coffee shops within walking distance of my home as well. Several independent and a couple of chains, which make up part of my life on a basis that is difficult to admit, at least publicly, because, on occasion, they serve as my only real human interaction for that day.

However, that is not an option right now, and the only option is this acidicly foul brown liquid that passes for coffee, which, like a monk scourging*** himself to make himself aware of his imperfections in the eyes of an omniscient and omnipotent God, I embrace this option, this choice, as an acknowledgement of choices that I failed to make.

"How bad can this coffee be?" you must be tempted to ask.

If the phrase exceptionally bad has no meaning for you, no context you can gather…allow me to phrase it this way. This first sip is comparable to the first kiss of a love affair you know to be doomed from the beginning. It is breathtaking, and wonderful, and tragic; a doomed visit with faux happiness, ultimately unsatisfying in a way that you do not understand at the time and you only come to know after time has passed.

If you are anything like me, you make a vow never to go back to this particular purveyor, regardless of the economic benefits, regardless of the expediency of the moment, feeling as if you hold off for something better, tastier, more enjoyable, you may have one a subtle victory over yourself and the doubts that you have over your worth. "I deserve better, " you scream to yourself.

And you wait…

But…

It is still there. Waiting, available, unfulfilling, and without judgment, knowing that you will come back, because, this is a mug of coffee, and anything you assign to it is really just a manifestation of your Id. The coffee does not care if you ignore it, or if you want something better. The coffee just is. After a little time has passed, you (or, more to the point, I) slink back, mug in hand, and pour yourself a mug, hoping that this time, it may be better, fooling yourself into thinking that you are being the better person by giving this coffee a chance.

It is not that, really.

By this point, the coffee has taken on an aspect of everything regarding your life. Imagine the way that one would have to feel about themselves for a minute to make a mug of bad coffee a metaphor for their life and their beliefs (justified, unjustified, or clearly delusional****) about it.

However, this is just a cup of coffee. Exceptionally bad coffee, as was aforementioned and one cannot read too much into it. Rather, one (meaning: you) should not read too much into it as one (meaning: I) does not think of my bad cup of coffee as a metaphor for a life. One can, however, use this metaphor going forward.

For a moment, picture yourself at a dinner party, or at a social gathering with your friends, and when someone asks you, "How is life?" you respond with something similar to "Like a bad cup of coffee."

How does one take that? How is one meant to take that? I know how I want you to take it, and I have rather obliquely defined it in the previous seven hundred or so words, but…

How do you want your audience to take it*****?

We have all had a bad cup of coffee. I can remember my first really bad cup of coffee. I can also remember a mug of coffee that was so sublimely wonderful that it took what was an awful moment and made it bearable and because of that simple coffee, I have pleasurable memories of that time.

How would you want someone to react? Would it be a simple reaction? It is just a cup of coffee after all.

Or maybe it isn't.

Coffee is something that we share, like our lives, with the people around us. How many times have you told someone who has just gotten re-ensnared in web of your life that, "We should get coffee sometime"? It is so common that it has become cliché. Eddie Izzard does a bit about the meanings behind the question, "Would you like to get a cup of coffee?" and the sub-textual doubts and fears that we have about ourselves as social beings become more apparent. Coffee is quick, cheap, and disposable, and if we really wanted to know someone, coffee acts as a precursor, not an end in and of itself.

There are several false starts and digressions here, which I fully understand (meaning: I understand that there are false starts and digressions, not that I know how to get out of them, nor do I care all that much, after all, this is just about a bad cup of coffee in a white ceramic mug bearing the logo of a network security company that does some really interesting things) and I leave it to you, if you have gotten this far, to parse some sort of meaning out of this, if you believe that there is any to be found.

Me…

I need to go get another cup of coffee.

*Currently, Neon Bible by Arcade Fire

**Currently, Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson

***The act of scourging is done with a scourge, which can also be referred to as a tawse. This offers no value to what I am saying, which I understand, however, since I spent a good twenty minutes trying to remember the name of the device that medieval monks used to scourge themselves, I needed to put it out there. That is it done with a scourge is…well…just too simple for me to process.

****I fully understand that anyone penning an ode (or a lament) about a mug of bad coffee can more than justifiably be called delusional.

*****Most people, when using similes (or when otherwise speaking), are concerned about how their audience is going to react. I am not saying this is a good thing or a bad thing. I just happen to believe that a good number of people do this, which may be one of the ways I am able to sleep at night.