The week before you greeted the day with sub-par beans bought in a moment of desperation--you needed to replenish your coffee stash, but didn't have the wherewithal for another errand.  So: you settled for some regular store brand beans. 

The days to follow would teach you how foolish you were, how necessary that extra errand would become.

You brewed your first pot from those unfortunate beans on a day when you most needed a cup of rich liquid strong enough to put hair on your chest.  What you got was a stale, brackish brew akin to hot, dirty water.  It soured your taste buds and made your brain feel fuzzier than it already was.  No.  This was simply no way to start the day--any day.

You stared forlornly into your cupboard as if it would take pity on you and your Bambi gaze and procure some dark, rich grounds that had been pushed to the very back, stuck behind cans of beans and jars of olives.  But no such luck. 

The day unraveled as a foggy plot to find a solid cup of coffee from school cafes and nearby stores.  This one had gone cold sitting on the burner too long, the other brewed too weak, yet another thick as molasses and twice as cloying.  Eventually, you give up the hunt and commit to that one errand you now wished you had taken the time to run days earlier.

You buy your beans.  You grind just enough for the next day, keeping the rest of your stash tightly sealed for freshness in your cupboard, as far away from the other offending beans as possible.   The kitchen is perfumed with the robust chocolatey aroma--a promise of tomorrow morning's pleasures.

The next day you turn your coffee maker on, longing for the simple indulgence of good coffee too long denied you.  And there it is--a perfectly brewed cup of rich, decadent goodness, the scent wafting from the mug, teasing you, begging to you take your first sip.  And then another.  And another.