Coming Back to a Cup of Tea

I’ve written a lot on this blog about cups of tea. And today, I shall write again about my love for a nice cuppa. The thing is, tea is a constant in my life, almost like a security blanket. I suppose I could have chosen a more self-destructive way to self-medicate. But I’m glad I didn’t.


My cup of tea is my quiet place, particularly in these last few weeks of waiting for our house mate to move out. I recently picked up a book after a particularly hard week and weekend. It’s called The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You. It’s very appropriate, particularly right now. This past weekend, our house mate had friends over (many of them mutual friends) for a going-away party, but after a wedding the weekend before, and a week on a business trip, I’d used up my tolerance for lots of people. Or any people.

So I closed myself off in my room like an invalid and Boyfriend sneaked me food from the party. It wasn’t exactly quiet or nice, but it was as close to what I needed as I was going to get. I’m finding myself frazzled by the noise of the world lately, and I think having my own house, where I can control the noise level, finally, will be a help. It’s been so long since I’ve had that, having lived in apartments or shared houses for so long. It sounds callous to say so, but I am almost glad that Boyfriend has had to work longer hours than I have lately because I enjoy having some time to myself.

Although right now, the closest I have to quiet time is to lose myself in a nice cup of tea.

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