Quiet morning, and Nifra makes her way to the kitchen. Her eyes, barely open. Her hands, accustomed to the act of pouring the cup of coffee she set up before going to bed. She hits the on button and then languishes on the couch, staring at the ceiling and contemplating the linguistic origins of curse words and the possibilities of acquiring nail polish remover without moving more than ten paces from her room.
A noise from the kitchen: low growl, and spitter hush of water hitting a hot surface.
Nifra sits up, and blinks at the kitchen.
Which is now engulfed in coffee, and the small tiny granules of coffee grounds which were meant to create coffee, and not escape onto the linoleum.
Nifra lies back down on the couch and tries to gather the emotional resources to deal with her kitchen.
Mid-morning. Nifra's been awake for a while, bopping happily around her room. Sunlight streams through her window and she is playing music loudly. She wears knee socks and pajama shorts and a cowboy hat, to channel her inner absurdity.
She feels that perhaps her coffee maker will feel that toying with her emotions today just isn't worth it. She remembers well the heartbreak of yesterday, but hopes - perhaps against hope - that it was a fluke.
And so into the kitchen she goes. And so the coffee maker she turns on. And so catastrophe ensues. Again.
The delicious nectar which was once meant to energize the once chipper Nifra has, instead, stained the countertop. The irresistable smell of the coffee wafts into her room, but for what?
Nifra, dejected, opens livejournal.