A friend sent me this quote:
“I only like playing with words, only dreaming, but, do you know, what I really want is that you should all go to hell. That is what I want. I want peace; yes, I’d sell the whole world for a farthing, straight off, so long as I was left in peace. Is the world to go to hell, or am I to go without my tea? I say that the world may go to hell for me so long as I always get my tea.“
— Notes From Underground (Dostoevsky)
A day without tea is misfortune. Or worse.
Try talking to me before my morning tea. (Ask my former girlfriends.)
It is more than just caffeine, as I drink white and aged teas low in that dreaded stimulant. It is the fragrance, the warmth, the liquid character that uplifts in a way nothing else can. The substantive quality that raises me to the level I need to be at before I can deal with the others in this world: the news, politics, traffic. Pushing crowds at the grocery store, at the post-office.
I just got off the phone with Jack Strand and ordered some more tea.