I thought I could do it. When I wrote it, I firmly believed I was through; done forever. Freed from its warm, delicate embrace.
I was wrong.
I am as much a coffee drinker now as I was this time last year and the years before that.
So much for that personal goal.
In fact, I've decided that the studies say that two cups is actually good for you, that it helps me be more productive and, above all, it makes me happy.
When the toddlers are crying and pushing and pulling over yet another THING and it's not even 9 a.m., I have my cup in hand, ready for the battle. It's my weapon. It's my sanity. It's my happy doused heavily with cream and sugar.
Maybe next year that will be a goal I stick with.
How do you take your happy? Whatever it is.
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