It's just past 10 o'clock in the morning and I am ready for my third cup of tea. The water I put on to boil in my room down the hall from my haunt is probably ready, and I have perhaps a dozen teas to choose from. I wonder if I am addicted? I've managed to loose my favorite mug and my teapot it up in the Commons, left there from the mad teaparty of a few days ago. I would really like to make a strong pot of tea, transfer it to a thermos and wander off into the fog shrouded hills with a warm coat and several books and not come back until I'm soaked or dark, or both. However, my finals harried mind won't let me enjoy this relaxation beyond the speculation of it, so instead I will wander back down the hall and continue to worry about the equivalency laws of gases and play with my guitar, and yes, drink tea.