Coffee is the most important meal of the day. In fact, it's a vital substance; along the lines of air, water, food and toilet paper. Without caffeine's psycho-pharmacological effect, survival is a hard-sell, until my requisite six shots of espresso take effect. Only then can I convince myself that the alternative to survival -- and the hassle my non-survival would be for Elena -- makes putting an effort into staying alive worth it.
The stove is gimballed. That means it can rock back and forth, or more precisely, it can stay still while the boat rocks back and forth around it. This is essential in a variable gravity environment where coffee is vital. I crab along the interior handrails, using one hand and a combination of elbows, knees, and teeth to manipulate the coffee grinder and espresso maker, and then, await the life-giving whoosh of dark brown ooze and steam to bring me to life.
Really, espresso is keeping me alive. Hard to admit, but sometimes LIFE FREAKING SUCKS! And I'm lying in a bunk with a tractor engine centimeters away, through a very thin wall, bouncing over wavelets, going who-knows-where, begging my heart to just stop beating already! This bad attitude requires doing whatever it takes to break that thought pattern and think through it. In my case, etching the depression from my brain with the corrosive and synapse short-circuiting effects of coffee.
Then, one sip, one gulp, an inhale later... and I might just make it up the companionway, and the sun might be shining, and the autopilot could fail, and Elena might need to pee, and then what would happen if I wasn't there for her? See, one can always find a reason to go on living. Besides, there's always something busted that needs fixing.