The water in the kettle was still hot, but I boiled it fresh and let the tea steep for precisely five minutes, with honey swirling in the bottom of the mug. (My enormous blue bowl-mug, eighteen ounces, a gift made to me on my twenty-first birthday, one of countless nights sitting on the floor in my friends' dorm room under the sloping ceilings of the fourth floor...)
I considered the oolong, subtle and on its recommended second brewing, and Hannah's green jasmine, but I decided in favor of the black. It is my favorite, a distinctive tea called lapsang souchong which smells like a wood fire on account of its leaves having been smoked during the drying process.
I drink it to feel strong.
What would I do today if I had woken absolutely full of peace and joy and certainty?
I would reply with my résumé to that HR woman. I would contact my ex-employers. I would walk to the far library, the one by the ocean, and write some letters.
I would put my feet on this floor and stand up, and I would pin my hair back.
I did not wake up today full of peace and joy and certainty. I woke up today, and I stood up and pinned my hair back.