Nerves and Ginger Tea

I stand next to the stove and watch the kettle.  A ginger tea bag is resting comfortably on its side in my mug.  The blue flames under the pot flicker and dance along the edge as if messing with me, taunting me somehow.  I pause to consider the heat.  It feels nice, inviting even.

5 minutes later …

The steam sprays out as a low whistle begins, reminding me why I was standing here.  I take the kettle off the stove, turn off the faerie fire and pour the water into my mug.  Specks of hot water land on my wrist as I miss the edge of the cup and drench the ginger tea bag completely.  I take the cup by the handle as the sides need time to cool.

10 minutes later …

I grab the mug in two hands, embracing the almost-too-hot smoothness.  The lip of the mug kisses my lips and I take the first swallow.  God, I needed this.  I feel the tea all the way down and let it settle into my stomach before going in for another large swallow, this time letting no time go by.  I need this.  Bad.

20 minutes later …

The teabag sits hanging over the mug’s side.  Signs of pressing and squeezing on the bag.  I waste not the tea I drink.

I Love Tea!!!!

Now I must bed down and rest my weary soul for the next day shall be full of life.

And I do not want to miss it.






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