She pinches the substance between her fingers and places it on her tongue, a wicked smile comes over the mouth of her friend sitting across from her. "I don't know about this hazel." She mumbles trying not to disturb the minerals. The girl just smiles "Don't you trust me?"

She nods, mutely, her pulse racing.

"Would I ever steer you wrong?"

She shakes her head stiffly back and forth, a strip of skin is exposed as Hazel reaches over and brushes the hair from her face, her heart is caught in her throat, she fears the other girl could hear it.

"Then it'll be fine, silly."

Heat floods her face, helplessly.

"Now close your eyes and relax."

She obeys, closing her eyes and focusing on the feeling of salt on her tongue, She feels faint, a giddy nervousness overcoming her as she hears Hazel shuffle through the room.

There are gentle hands on her shoulders, words are being spoken that she can't quite make out, the music that was playing is no longer distinguishable. She feels expansive, her body vibrating her giddy anxiousness expanding into something otherworldly.

She wakes to Hazel overdosed on the floor.

I used to drink my coffee with cream and sugar, the way my mother takes it. I wanted the benefits of coffee without the bitterness, and that's what cream and sugar does: takes away the bitterness.

But over time, too much cream and sugar is unhealthy. My mother always takes her coffee that way, but she doesn't take it every day the way I do. Coffee is her dessert with dinner in the early mornings after working nights. I drink it to keep me from missing my morning classes.

I'm afraid relationships are much the same. Cream and sugar, cream and sugar. All the benefits but none of the bitterness. No matter how great it feels and how indulgent is seems, it's not a forever kind of thing.

And I've learned that without the cream and sugar, I can manage the bitterness with a touch of salt. A bit of humility, a pinch of self-reflection, a dash of accountability.

And that's how I manage to reap all the benefits of my daily cup of coffee without the bulk of the bitterness.

For things that live a long time, there's no true way to rid the coffee of bitterness entirely. And a small dose of that unpalatable taste is well worth the benefits I'll be able to reap a long time from now. So long as I take my coffees with a grain of salt.

Mr james: so I have decided to build another floor of our house. A separate room of each of you. What’s say? Wanna discuss your room color? What about u Tia? U still wants dad to buy u that latest gaming system ????

Tia: As u like dad. Now can I go with my friends ( he is a famous lawyer so everyone at his home knows that he always takes whatever he says with a grain of salt) .

Lucille is lying complacent, fat, and happy in a hospital bed. She has been 51/50′d. For those not the know, this is when they come after you with tranquilizers. A forced rest, perfect for her head.

The doctor says she’s in for a full recovery.

The other night, Harry had broken up with Lucille. Actually, they had broken up in January. Lucille had merely run into him outside a bar in downtown San Francisco (what are the odds!), and their reunion was punctuated with bourbon and memories, and what fun to see him!

But this of course did not last, and Lucille knew that upon waking up in his bed the next morning. There’s nothing like the morning after, when it’s clear they won’t call you. After a brief goodbye, it was over (again) and Lucille went home and layed into the wine like she was going for a prize.

Lucille had come to San Francisco by way of New York City. There had a been a Harry there, too. And a Roger, and a Philip, and countless other one night stands she could name on infinite hands. And there had been long drives to the Berkshires, arriving at quaint New England brunch places and getting drunk on mimosas, alone, at 9am. She just couldn’t get away with that behavior in New York.

And so Lucille had had her New York City nervous breakdown. And then flew to San Francisco. The plane ride had been turbulent, physically and emotionally. She hadn’t saved any of the men’s numbers into her phone. With no one to call, she arrived in a new city with a Craigslist apartment and a Tinder bio that was probably passed around many bars with many laughs.

After her San Francisco nervous breakdown, Lucille is languishing in the psychiatric ward when she glances over at her chart. It reads her diagnosis as: Nervous Depressive Neurosis.

But let’s take this with a grain of salt. Lucille is just fine, thank you very much.

She will, afterall, make a full recovery.