My feet walk the same path every morning. I am more predictable than rain in summer.
As soon as my feet have hit the bedroom floor I only have one thought in my head, one goal, and nothing else will satisfy.
The object of my desire lies in the kitchen and I don't think flood, fire or famine would keep me from my morning ritual.
I need tea.
I know I am an addict. We can run run out of bread, potatoes and other important staples but I NEVER run out of tea. Without at least two cups to get me going I am nothing, less than nothing - a heap, a useless lump. There is no point in speaking to me until I have filled me tanks.
Although coffee takes over a couple of times a day, it is tea I rely upon to get me through a phone call, a friend's confession, a hard day at work or just because I fancy one.
I have to face it, I am an addict and I shall be buried in a teapot.