I was talking to a friend today about the coffee thing. (By “talking” I mean, “typing.” By “coffee thing” I mean the previous post. By “friend” I mean someone who is highly talented and creative who needs to take a leap of faith for his art.) He expressed sympathy for my flavored coffee dilemma and explained to me that is one of the reasons why he drinks tea. He has complete control of the quality.

(Interjection: That’s not the only reason he drinks tea. The other reason is that coffee has an odd effect on him. It’s like over winding a toy. He goes into fast forward. I’ll never forget the time he was laying on my floor clutching his chest, panting and yelling, “I’ll be fine! I’ll be fine! I just need some water and some cookies. Start the movie without me. I’m sure normal blood flow will resume in a moment.”)

I like tea as well, thanks to him. He introduced me to brands and flavors (is that what you call them? Flavors? Leaves? Twigs?) that I hadn’t been aware of. Granted, I was brought up on Lipton teabags. I thought tea grew in bags. Who knew that there were actually dried leaves in there! Go figure!

At home, I’ll drink tea when the mood hits me. I prefer coffee. It has weight. It feels like it’s going somewhere. It’s like drinking a magic elixir. Tea is more of refreshment. Granted, when I’m sick nothing hits the spot quite like tea. In that respect it’s magical.

Since this conversation occurred while I was at work, I explained that I couldn’t drink tea here. First, our water tastes AWFUL. Out of the tap it tastes like I’m licking a geological survey. Even our shipped-in filtered water tastes bad. Once, I swear this is true, it tasted like a basement. An old, musty, dirty basement where someone has hidden the bodies of missing vagrants.

The other issue is the fact that the only means by which to warm the water is a microwave. Normally that isn’t so bad, if I’m at home, that is. Here, no matter what you do, the machine smells like the Ghost of Lunches Past.

So, if I make my tea here my refreshing vanilla blend comes out tasting like fluoridated Dinty Moore Beef Stew, now with scaly minerals!

Tea’s just not my bag. Besides, part of my freelancing fantasy has never been to sit at my desk drinking tea. Let me paint you the picture of my perfect day as a self-employed man:

I’m a successful writer. Or perhaps I’ve won a large settlement in a class-action lawsuit. Hard to tell. Things are fuzzy. Anyway, I wake up in the morning and put on a fuzzy, green, ratty, terrycloth robe.* I pad downstairs in my Mickey Mouse slippers and put the coffee on. I wake up the wife and tell her it’s time to get ready for work. She uses bad words. I laugh. I wake up the kids to get them ready for school.

I head back downstairs to make breakfast and watch the news. The family comes down and has some breakfast. Wife leaves for work. I take the kids to the bus stop. They beg me to stay inside, but I refuse. The other kids ask “who’s the scary guy in the ugly green robe?” My girls lie and say they don’t know.

I go back inside, finish the first pot of coffee and shower. I put on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and the fuzzy green robe. Second pot of coffee is prepared. I check my email and answer my massive amounts of fan mail. Or maybe it’s hate mail. There’s a fine line.

I crank up some good indie music. Maybe Cherry Twister or maybe Linus of Hollywood, or perhaps some Splitsville. I guess it depends on the mood. I finish the second pot.

With the third pot brewing I sit down and do some serious thinking about the various articles I’ll be writing that day. Having three syndicated columns is rough, you know! By noon I finish the third pot. So, I have lunch.

Around one I get back to work. I start jotting notes down. I watch a squirrel running by. I change CDs. I get tired and start the fourth pot. I finalize my topics and get more coffee.

By now I realize it’s 2:45 and the kids will be coming home from school soon. In 30 minutes I pound out all three articles. They are all brilliant. Pulitzer worthy. Then I make dinner for the family. Start the fifth pot of coffee. Put the kids to bed, watch a movie or two and go to bed around 3 a.m.

Somewhere in there would be a heart seizure or two.

My friend ended his tea proposition with, “Doesn’t really matter anyway. You’ll be working from home and in control. Hey, you’ll need to take on an extra project just to pay for your extra bean consumption.”

True. True. But, it’ll still be much more affordable that scotch. Even if that did work for Faulkner.

*Green fuzzy robe idea is copyright 2002 Pengelly Enterprises. All rights reserved, but not deserved. Void where prohibited. Not valid with all offers. Pengelly Enterprises is not responsible for any rashes, welts, hives or other socially embarrassing side-effects from its products, or the products of its subsidiaries.