Step One: Coffee
I don't do mornings. Mornings are a rumor started by people who go to bed at 9 PM and wake up refreshed, and I don't trust those people. What I do — what I have always done, what I will do until the sun finally learns to rise at noon — is coffee. Industrial quantities of it. Clutched in both hands like a life preserver, like the owl in this picture, who understands the assignment completely.
That owl has the thousand-yard stare of a creature who was vertical before it was consensual. The mug is oversized because regular mugs are for people with regular problems. This is not a beverage. This is a medical intervention with a handle.
Step Two: Quiet Plotting
Once the coffee is secured, phase two begins: quiet plotting. And let's be clear about the target of this plotting, because it's specific — it's whoever scheduled the morning. The 7 AM meeting organizer. The neighbor with the leaf blower. The sun itself, frankly, for showing up uninvited at such an hour.
The plotting is quiet because loud plotting requires energy, and all energy is currently allocated to holding the mug. But it's thorough. Revenge fantasies are being drafted. Strongly worded emails are being composed mentally and will never be sent, because sending them would require a third phase, and there is no third phase.
Approach With Caffeine
This owl has witnessed things before 9 AM that no creature should endure, and he has the expression to prove it. So here's the rule, posted clearly for all visitors: approach with caffeine, or don't approach at all. Bring an offering. The offering is coffee. Black, large, no small talk.
Mornings are temporary. The plotting is forever. But the coffee — the coffee is right now, and right now is all that matters.
The Plotting Agenda
What exactly is the owl plotting? Let's consult the evidence. Item one on the agenda: whoever invented the 8 AM meeting. That person is first on the list, and the list is long. Item two: the sun itself, for having the audacity to rise before the coffee kicks in. The owl has filed a formal complaint with the universe. The universe has not responded, which is frankly rude but also typical.
Item three: the chipper morning person in the office who says "morning!" like it's good news. The owl has a whole dossier on this individual. It includes timestamps, witness statements, and a detailed log of every unsolicited "rise and shine." The plotting is quiet, methodical, and powered entirely by caffeine and spite. Do not mistake the silence for forgiveness.
The Coffee Protocol
The coffee phase of the morning is sacred and governed by strict protocol. Cup one is medicinal — consumed in silence, preferably while staring out a window at nothing. No conversation during cup one. No eye contact during cup one. Cup one is a private ceremony between an owl and a mug, and intruders will be met with a stare so flat it could be used as a spirit level.
Cup two is when the owl becomes approximately civil. Words may be attempted. Simple words. "Yes." "Coffee." "Don't." By cup three, the plotting pauses and actual functioning begins — but the morning itself remains unforgiven. The owl doesn't do mornings. The owl does coffee and quiet plotting, in that order, and has done so every day since approximately forever. Approach with caffeine, or don't approach at all.