The Throwing of Things.

Steaming milk, pushing the double shot button the pull espresso from the fully automatic espresso machine I face nearly every day, I was rushing in every sense of the word to give my attention the the ten beverages lined in a row, waiting to be made, while the ten people waiting on them stared at me with eagerness and impatience. More than one of the beverages were caramel macchiatos, and my bottle of caramel drizzle, something many people are very passionate about, was basically empty; drizzle was simply lining the bottle instead of filling it. And so, in haste and frustration, I threw it.

Sitting on the couch, discussing life with a dear friend, we brought to life the delicacy of a woman's heart, and how affected it can be by an unassuming, clueless man. When these wonderful head in the clouds men do or say something that affects it, and they have no idea, we are left to deal with the disappointment, all the while, knowing the one doing the affecting is completely unaware. Which means, not only are we sad, but also alone. Having actual scenarios in my head to draw from, in angst and frustration, I picked up the water bottle on the arm of the couch, and I threw it.

Standing behind the counter with a kind smile on my face, I greet the man with some sort of "how can I help you?". Tall black decaf coffee was his reply. At the place where I unfortunately work, we re-brew the coffee every thirty minutes. When the timer goes off, we dump the coffee out and put freshly ground coffee into a filter, which goes into a basket, which is brewed with extremely hot water, and in about four minutes time, becomes coffee. In this particular case, it was in the process of becoming decaf coffee. It was two minutes in to the brewing cycle when Mr. Decaf asked for his cup. I asked if he had about one-hundred and twenty seconds to wait, and his reply, given with a tone of annoyance, was, "well I guess I will have to." Funny thing is that by the time I was done taking his money, grabbing the cup, and walking it over to the brewer, he had about thirty seconds left to wait for AN EXTREMELY FRESH CUP OF COFFEE. As I was retelling this story last night to some of my regular customers, the annoyance and frustration came back into my veins, so I grabbed an empty cup, and I threw it.

It feels as if I am in a stage of limbo. I have a job I do not like with a degree that affords me no appealing options. I want to work, but in something that is fulfilling. Until I find a job I will enjoy, or convince my brick mason father that I would make a fantastic laborer, I am stuck behind a bar making caramel macchiatos with not enough drizzle in my bottle.

I also have no desire to spend anymore of my years without companionship. I am running out of the energy required to keep my heart up all by myself. But the thing about companionship is that you have to find someone that wants to be your companion back. Until then, it's me and books and movies and lovely friends, which are wonderful, but not quite the companionship I am looking for.

And littered throughout my life will always be tall decaf coffee people that are not willing to wait one-hundred and twenty seconds for anything. He represents a greater force out there that seems to be entirely missing the point, and so it is not just him that sends poison through my veins, but the school of thought that he is the president of.

The moral I am learning? I have no control over these things. I am in limbo. I can do what I can to fill my days with as much goodness I can, but there are things out there I cannot change. And so, when those uncontrollables rise to the surface, I will merely reach for the nearest object, preferably unbreakable, and throw it.