When one cup isn’t enough -The story

When one cup isn’t enough

Mini has finished her fifth cup of tea. But it wasn’t enough.

The card was glaring at her from across the room. It was still on the table beside her empty cup.

A pool of candle wax was slowly spreading on the table

She should probably do something about that.

Her feet hurt. Her shoulder hurt. Actually, everything hurt.

She hated winter.

“Four of Swords!” Mini stared at it. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I have a deadline, you know.”

She wished it was an 8 of pentacles or a knight or something encouraging to keep going and get it done.

The incense she’d lit earlier had been nice at first. Now the smoke hung around at head height in an eerie cloud.

She should open a window. She should do something about the candle wax creeping towards the card.

But she didn’t.

Was she delirious from tiredness?

It was getting late, the sun was setting and now she felt defeated by a card, so she did what she always does to reset her headspace, make a cup of tea!

On her way she glanced over her shoulder “Pfff,.. really?”

The noise of the jug boiling quietens the noise in he head.

Her finger nudged the teabag into position against the side of her favourite cup. It was soft and spongy beneath her fingertip. Almost like a tiny pillow.

A very comfortable tiny pillow, actually.

Mini rested her head against it and closed her eyes.

Warm tea surrounded her aching body, steam curled up and around her face. The smell of sweet milky chai was divine

She slid lower against the teabag and lifted one tired leg over the rim, then the other.

Her feet tingled as they dangled over the edge

She sank a little deeper and sighed  “This is exactly what I need”

CLICK  

The jug switched off.

Mini opened her eyes.

Her finger still resting on the teabag.

“Huh.”

Mini picked up her tea and walked back into the room.

She looked at the Four of Swords, then at the unfinished painting.

She blew out the candle.

“Fine. You win.”

Still holding her tea, she smiled.

“Maybe one more cup was enough after all”, she said heading for the bath.

Behind the Painting

When One Cup Isn’t Enough was born while I was preparing for my exhibition. I was tired, sore, working long hours to get enough paintings finished and drinking what felt like an endless supply of Chai tea.

One day, somewhere between exhaustion and yet another cup, I wondered whether drinking the stuff was really enough. Perhaps I’d be better off soaking in it.

And just like that, the woman in the teacup appeared.