Sanity, at least for me, is a fragile thing. Some days, I have plenty to go around, like turkey on Thanksgiving Day. Other days, I struggle to remember that sanity ever existed, like the foggy memory of a sweet nothing whispered by a former lover what seems like a lifetime ago.
At times, sanity wraps me as tight as a blanket on a cold, rainy day. Other times, it escapes me like a feather in the wind. The fear of not knowing if I'll be sane tomorrow is what drives me to the brink of insanity today.
Sanity, or lack thereof, reminds me most of coffee. At times, my level of sanity is a frothy, steamy latte, soothing me to the core, full of flavored creamer and oh so sweet. But sometimes, it's more like a giant mug of cold, sludgy, two-day-old black coffee. No amount of cream can alter the blackness just as no amount of hoping can make it warm again. The coffee pot is out of order, and the microwave is beyond repair.
I've struggled to maintain my sanity much longer than I've been addicted to coffee. Today, I take my sanity just like my coffee - any way I can get it.