Y'know what needs to be invented? I'll tell you. but first, I think I'd better tell you a story to further accentuate my point. so I guess I will. here goes nothing.
Okay, so, almost every morning without fail, this is what happens. I wake up. but that's not all. sometimes I wake up to sunlight, sometimes I wake up to the beep-beep-beep of my alarm, sometimes to some sort of musical instrument (i.e. piano, flute, saxophone, guitar, ecc). whatever the thing is that wakes me up, the second thing I always notice is the smell of coffee.
I started drinking coffee when I was seven years old. I didn't like it at all, actually. I just wanted Dad to think I was cool. I hated it for the longest time, but the glances of approval from Dad were enough to keep me drinking it. and then, somewhere between seven years old and seventeen years old, though I don't know when exactly, I actually started liking it.
Nowadays, I couldn't care less if Dad approves or not. I gotta have it. my record is five pots in a day, and I wasn't even really trying. it just happened. it also just happened that I didn't eat anything all day (who needs food when there's coffee, right?). finally I realized, "Hey, I'm about to pass out and my body is convulsing. maybe I should eat something." Oh brilliant me.
Anyways, I've drifted from my story. after I smell the coffee, I push my feet to the floor and stumble along, still half asleep, just following that smell. I plod down the stairs in my quest for coffee, coming in contact with various family members who always try talking to me or asking me about things I don't understand, and won't until I've got caffeine in my bloodstream.
"Hey, Johanna, what did you do with my bag of clothes yesterday? remember? it was in your car? You said you'd bring it in? Johanna?"
"Johanna, I need you to pick up Mary from flute lessons at three o'clock today, okay? Johanna?"
Eventually, I make it past everybody into the kitchen where, without fail, somebody is always taking the last of the coffee. I stare with bloodshot eyes as the last of that hot, bitter liquid is drained into the offender's oversized mug, which has probably been refilled several times already this morning.
And whoever it is will smile at me as they walk away, ignorant to my distress, while I stare, mesmerized by the steam wafting up from the rim and the enticing aroma that's sure to follow. and I'll stand there for a few seconds more, willing more coffee to appear in the pot, without success, usually. in the event that no more coffee appears, I'll pad over to the empty pot and begin the long process of making more. (it's the unspoken rule that the person who takes the last of the coffee is supposed to make more. however, since the rule is unspoken, it is also often unheeded).
After I dump the old filter and replace it with a new one, fill it with the grounds of my choosing, add the water, turn on the burner and close the lid, there's really nothing left to do but squat down until you are at eye level with the pot, less than an inch away from singing your nose on the scalding glass, and watch the dark brown liquid trickle into the waiting pot.
"Johanna, I need you to clean your room today."
"Johanna, what are you doing?"
Oh, please, coffee.
And then, at long last, when the incessant drip-drip-drip is over, you can begin the pouring process. but see, I've been waiting (so patiently) for a long, long time, and I'm tired of waiting, and I want my coffee NOW! so in my haste, I pour really really...fast. and in pouring fast...I spill.
So back to the beginning. they need to invent some sort of coffee pot that only spills if you pour too slowly. if you pour FAST, you're fine. it won't spill. it's for the slow-pourers that it'll gush all over the counter and make a huge mess. but it'll work great for me. yeah, they definitely need to invent that. how 'bout it, Science?
"Morning" --Iron And Wine.