Seventeen was a good year.
Eighteen was decent. Passable. I'm ok with eighteen.
Nineteen. Sixteen days in...

Let's go back to seventeen.

Your assumptions are cute.

I find myself pondering the most bizarre things at four thirty in the morning. I suspect that's a common trend among people. Sitting in darkness, quiet, the strangest of things will spring to mind. This morning, I found myself seriously considering the idea of tea. 

Tea. What the heck. What kind of thing is that to stop and think about. I digress. 

I'm infatuated with the concept of tea. The health of it, the image that it conveys, even the smell of it. I adore holding a hot cup of tea and losing myself in the aroma of it. I enjoy buying tea, knowing that it's not the norm, even as I'm aware that it isn't anything special. I love preparing tea. Using tea bags, or using other tea like accoutrements. Every so often I immerse myself in a culture that isn't my own, so I also tend to love just how British tea is. 

I love tea. Until I put it in my mouth. 

That's when I remember that it's hot water flavored with leaves. It usually takes me a week or two before I'm ready to lose myself in it's glorious concept again.

Hi, my name is Matt, and I've failed you all.