I’m a bit like Dexter Morgan, the famous criminal hunter serial killer; I’ve got my Morning Routine, like the one he has in the opening credits. Awakening is a sacred thing to me, and anything that comes afterwards is punctuated in quite a mechanichal way.
The time, however, is not set by the clock. But by a coffee pot. The first thing I do when I wake up is prepare my coffee; the rest comes after. While I do my things, the grumbling I hear means that my coffee is coming and, from that moment on, everything really starts. This coffee pot is fundamental to me: is the symbol of awakening, of sharing, of the first word ever said or whispered to the one I love, who doesn’t drink coffee. This coffee pot is the new daily fresh start, an intimate moment, an unavoidable ritual, a scented moment.
This coffee pot, even when not used in the morning, is clearly the symbol of how much I hate loneliness and how much I love to be surrounded by people. Not by chance, is the only one that I own: it’s a two-cups size, but even if there are six friends at home, this coffee pot is still the only protagonist. I often invite the ones I love to come over for a coffee, and we always end up waiting eternal minutes before anybody can take a sip: you fill the first two cups, then you wash the coffee pot, and then you prepare the coffee again, put in on the stove, and blablabla…
Never mind, now everybody knows about that, and nobody could ever buy me a bigger one because they know I would never use it.