Breaking Glass

Coffee is like a mini addiction in the grayish blue shadow of booze.  Booze might sit in the shadow of something too, but I don't really need an introduction.  So when I stopped drinking coffee, I expected something negative, a headache, a week long migraine, you know, the kind of pressure that crinkles the visual landscape and makes you want to find a match.  Alas, all of my doom and gloom was not matched by proportionate amounts of dyspeptic spiritual reckoning.  In fact, I was greeted with more stable days and increasingly high levels of energy.  So, like with other positive phenomenon, I decided to stick a knife directly to the jugular, and, after making coffee for a co-worker today (my coffee, in my french press), started to pour myself a cup.  Then I touched the lip of the press with the edge of my cup, and jumped a bit as a grating pop sound came off of the interaction, and a piece of something went flying toward the wall.  It took me a minute or two to realize that I had successfully removed a portion of the glass lip from the french press, and that part of it, or many pieces of it, almost microscopic, had fallen directly into my coffee, rendering it undrinkable.  And so, I was saved from myself, as they say.