Anyone who knows me will tell you that I’m one of the least organized people they know. That is not entirely true. I mean, it is for the most part, but there’s a bit of qualification. I tend to have a picture in my mind of how I want things arranged, placed … to be … and that can get in the way of actually putting things away. I can’t put something away until I’m happy with where ‘away’ is. Basically, this means that it will take me forever to get organized, however, the few things that are where I think they should be will always be there. So, I’m either very (very) organized … or not at all.

Because of this, it took me an hour and a half to make a pot of coffee this morning.

It took me forever to find the right scoop size that would make the perfect pot of coffee. I don’t follow the instructions on the can or bag, I just use one specific plastic scoop that I have had for years, and that scoop is always in the can/bag I’m using. Always.

And this morning, it wasn’t.

I put fresh water in the coffee machine, pulled out the ‘guts’ (that’s what Dad always called them) where the grounds go, and opened the can of coffee, ready to reach inside for the scoop.

And it wasn’t there.

The can was somewhat full, so I could only tilt it so much to move the grounds around to see if my scoop got buried. But I kept tilting and spinning that damned can and could not find the scoop. Three or four times I considered just shoving my hand inside to dig around.

After twenty minutes, I began to get frantic. I searched the counter around the coffeepot, where I kept everything that was coffee-related (I’m very organized, there. Priorities, you know.). I even moved stuff to look.

By this time, thirty minutes had passed. I was past panic and heading towards desperate.

(Maybe if I had a cup of coffee, I’d be a little more relaxed?)

Desperation makes us look for other alternatives, even when we are reluctant to do so. I wasn’t ready yet to consider a spoon — do you know how long that would take to fill the filter in the right amount? I might even be forced to read the directions on the can and figure in my own measurements. I don’t think so.

Dammit! I always put the scoop back in the can, where it belongs! Where is it?

I looked to the dish strainer where I had dishes drying — yesterday, that I still hadn’t put away. I’d had company yesterday, friends over for a wine-tasting party that I may or may not have done some cooking for, or at least some food-preparation (don’t even get me started on that). Without putting any of the dishes away, I looked to see if my scoop was there. It wasn’t.

We had a great time yesterday, the girls and I. I always do when I’m with them.

Of course, now I was resenting the party that prompted the food work that may have contributed to my losing the coffee scoop. I began to resent them.

(I really needed a cup of coffee.)

I did find one small measuring cup. I looked at it for a moment, considering it. But I could tell that it would only hold slightly more than a tablespoon and therefore require the same amount of thought in measuring. And what if I made the coffee too weak? That would be a problem, because I would have a whole pot of it to drink.

I had to find this scoop. Don’t you understand? This was the one item of proof that I could be organized, in any way.

(And I did not want a cup of coffee made the wrong way that I wouldn’t enjoy.)

My world was falling apart. Yes, it was. First of all, I had no coffee ready to drink. Secondly, IALWAYSPUTTHATSCOOPINTHESAMEDAMNPLACEWHYWASN’TITTHERE?

I went through the dish strainer again. I also picked up the coffee can, tilting and turning it around, still hoping the scoop was somewhere in there. Then, I went through my silverware drawer (which is right under my ‘coffee counter’). And then the sink, because I still had one or two items left to be washed.

Strainer, can, drawer, sink.

Strainer, can, drawer, sink.

And then, the strainer, can, drawer and sink.

I was on a mission.

Over an hour had passed, and I noticed the shaking in my hands. That was it. If I didn’t get coffee soon it could really ruin the rest of the day. It already ruined enough of it; it’s not like I enjoy mornings.

I caved. I grabbed the smaller measuring cup I’d found earlier. With a sigh, I dug it into the ground coffee and began counting my scoops. One … two … thr — — what was that? The sad little measuring cup hit something that didn’t feel like coffee grounds. I used it to dig further, praying I didn’t lose count.

My scoop!

Elatedly, I threw down the pathetic little replacement I’d been using, picked up the filter to dump the contents back into the can, and used my scoop to measure out the right amount of coffee.

After I turned the pot on, my day began to look a little brighter, but one thing still puzzled me: how the hell did the scoop get buried so far down?

I stared at the coffee can. I began to review the events of the day before. I did not make coffee until after my girlfriends had left, because I knew we would be drinking wine all day.

I was wrong to get angry at them. I’m sorry, ladies. I hope you can forgive me.

I remembered! I went to work on one of my drawings. To be comfortable, I decided to work on the floor so that I could have everything I needed spread out around me. After a few moments of drawing,