A fanfiction series based on Keira Cass's The Selection novels. Part 4:

Past Time

​I turn back to the guard.
"Heath, you said my father is filming an address?"
Heath is very tall and broad shouldered, bigger than Leger and most of the other guards. He and Ean are the biggest guys I know. I hope Heath has brains to match his brawn. He looks too young to be second in command. Maybe a year or two older than me. How on earth is he the one in charge after Leger? I swallow my harsh judgement. I'm in charge after Dad, and I'm a literal mess.
Heath's eyes stay on mine and he angles his body to block me from the room's prying eyes.
"You Highness?" he prompts. "We have secured the castle and are working to clear the grounds. A team should be escorting your father back when he is finished. Your mother is well manned. Should I dismiss the remaining Selection boys back to their quarters?" He seems alert and tense to move if needed. I decide to trust that whomever put him in charge knew what they were doing.
"Does he need me? My dad?" I blurt out. I hate the childish hope I hear in my voice.
His mouth opens slightly and I can almost see his buzz cut hair bristling with unease. "Um, no, he, um, thought it'd be better if it was just him speaking to the people." Heath rubs his forehead and turns to the others grouped at the far side of the large anteroom. They are all listening to earpieces or ear buds or are huddled around a small speaker. Oh, his speech is happening right now.
Heath lowers his voice more and adds, "His Highness hopes to convince them to put down their arms and come to him in peace to make change."
"Make change?" I'm dumbfounded my father would say such a thing.
Heath apologetically says, "I only heard the beginning of the address, then you called me over."
Kadan appears at my elbow. "He wants to listen to their demands," he says. The way he says it makes me want to wince.
"Demands? With what leverage?" I bark. "They are his subjects, they will obey his judgement in every matter as he will always look out for their best interest." Wait, I think. Before saying anything else, wait.
"Can I have a minute with my sister?" Kadan asks Heath. Heath nods, presses his earpiece, and steps to the side, still blocking me from the others in the room.
Kadan gives me a look that means he's tolerating me even though I am not as smart as him. The look sears into me, but somehow I hold back snarking at him. He knows more than me right now. I need to suck it up and listen. Even if he is only fourteen. I arch an eyebrow. He proceeds to fill me in.
"Why listen? So they'll stop surging the castle, stealing our possessions, threatening our safety...that's powerful leverage, Eadlyn. The intruders left the castle, but the general populace is still reacting to the invasion. The fires, fights, and looting needs to stop. Now."
Fires. Fights. Looting. My Illea? What is happening?
"This is bigger than you realize. Then maybe even Dad realizes. It's time to listen to our people. Past time."
"We have been—" I begin. His look shuts me down.
"No, we haven't. Words are the beginning of a revolt. Then smaller hostilities, like the parade. Then riots, now an attempted coup, what's next? Revolution?"
I'm speechless with fear, blame, and guilt all rolled into an awful churning. I want to lash out at my little brother for knowing this. But I should be thanking him. Hugging him. For knowing it. For telling me and...
"How do you know this?" I ask in a crackling whisper. "Did you talk with Dad before the address?"
"I wrote the address," he says solemnly. "The violence needs to stop."
"Have people been hurt?"
"Yes. Not the intent maybe, but to get in they had to overpower the guards and our guards are loyal—they went down fighting."
"What?"
"We've lost seven guards."
"What?"
"They infiltrated the main rooms and the east wing. Stripped it of anything valuable. We held them off this wing, and called for reinforcements from every other nearby area. By the time reinforcements arrived, the insurgents left. They seemed to give up after they reached the royal apartments."
"Everyone is safe?"
"Not everyone is accounted for, but the royal family is fine." He flinches.
"Who?" I ask, an ominous dread rising up my throat.
"Your maid is missing."
"Neena?"
He nods. "And several of the Selection are gone. We think they left of their own free will."
"They were part of it," Heath asserts. Okay, so he is not even hiding that he is eavesdropping.
"Maybe," Kadan says, and he bows his head.
"But the background checks—" I splutter.
"They were legit. Leger thinks that some were recruited while here, prime for the picking after being alienated or embarrassed by you." Kadan says this without guile, as if he's reporting well known facts.
Alienated? Embarrassed? My fault?
I need Ahren.
Or Kile. Where is he?
"Watch how you speak to our future Queen," Ean says, appearing out of nowhere. His bulk and confidence bring me relief. He gives Kadan a stern look. Kadan ducks his head sheepishly.
"Sorry," Kadan mumbles, like he accidentally stepped on my heel. He goes to stand next to Heath. Now they both are blocking me from view of the rest of the room.
I turn and slide over to the window nearest to me. Outside, there is a mass of churning people, mouths open, signs waving. Signs that I can't read from here, but I think for that I am glad.
The anger in the air is almost visible, a chaotic swirl of unfocused hurt seeping up and out like dusty pollution.
My arm is tugged and then my shoulders clamped under Ean's arm. He pulls me away from the window.
"It's not safe to stand in the open like that right now, Your Highness." Ean presses me protectively against his side.
I go dizzy with his meaning.
"To be safe," he says. "Stay out of sight."
A commotion sounds out behind me.
Dad walks in, his best men around him. General Leger is right there, at his side.
"Eadlyn!" he says in complete relief. He motions us to follow him into the smaller attached room where Mom is recovering.
Mom gives us a wan smile.
After darting his eyes over Mom from head to toe to see that she is okay, Dad opens his arms to me.
I stay where I am. Ean's arm falls from my side.
"Is it true? This is all about me? They don't want me to lead?" I choke out.
No one speaks. The room is stuffed to the brim with the sound of my mistakes, piled up, my selfishness, my cold scorn, my distance from everyone.
Then Dad lowers his arms. He moves to the bedside and draws Mom's hand into his and holds tight.
"Things are settling down," he says evenly. "We need to rest, and then recoup."
"After you brief me," I say coldly, annoyed that he's shutting me out. Anger is easier than guilt, by far. I don't deserve this. I've done everything they asked! Even allowed my marriage to be dictated by a game.
Dad looks at me and blinks for a long time. Then he rubs his face and gestures to Heath, who comes over and whispers to him. Dad nods, and then settles into a chair near Mom. Mom is barely awake; Lucy and Marlee hover on her other side.
"Let Heath escort you to your room, Eadlyn. Then let's meet in two hours for a briefing, in private." He sounds so very tired.
"Maybe when you have clothes on," Kadan says.
I look down at my body. I'm in a robe, my brother's old shirt, and my hair is a mess: unbrushed, bed head, the works. Bare feet. I'm freezing, I realize just then. I have never been seen even by castle staff looking so disheveled. I have never really looked this tousled—it's all from my melt down and then spending the night pressed against Kile's chest.
"I think you need to get some rest. I dismissed the boys out front and the rest of the staff. Please lie down for a bit." Dad runs his hands through his graying hair. I think it's him who needs the rest.
"Please," Mom says in a croak.
"Fine. May I use your room? Mine is trashed."
Dad sucks in a breath. His face loses what is left of its color.
"Yes, Leger is tallying up the damage. I want some time with your mom. Use our room. I'll wake you later for his report."
I trail out to the front room, sad and alone, full of desire to change but not enough energy to even run a brush through my hair.
I see Erik talking with a guard. I motion him over.
He approaches me carefully.
"Are you alright? Henri?"
He murmurs so softly that I have to lean in to hear him. "Yes, he is very shaken. This was a terrible violation. It feels unfinished somehow. Why did they leave when they had the advantage?"
I give him a blank look. I'm in an empty zone where I feel so much I can't feel anything.
He watches me for a full minute. I feel so empty.
"May I escort you to your room?" he asks.
"No, thank you. Heath will, along with some other guards, in a minute."
"I'm worried about you," Erik says in a trembling voice.
"Me? I'm okay. I'm sorry I worried everyone when they couldn't find me. Have you seen Kile?"
He shakes his head. "We all were so sure...that...they'd taken you."
"Me?" I say again.
"You were the only one missing."
"Aside from Neena, Kile, and..."
"Some of the other boys. But those of us left...we needed to see you with our own eyes. Then you came in like a— ghost—I'm not sure that is the right word. I've never been so scared. Kadan said you were unharmed...?"
"I didn't see any rebels. You mean everyone saw me when I ran in?" I think about how awful I look. How wide my eyes and mouth were when I was racing in. "Great."
"Yes. I've never seen you so...raw..."
"Well, yes, I'm a woman beneath the crown. My home is being ransacked."
"A woman who has had a fright. Anything, I will do anything. You need but to ask. I am your servant." He bows to me, with a look of pure devotion in his eyes.
"No, I need no servants," I say. I realize I need to prove this is true. "I need a friend. And you are that Eikko. Thank you."
He bows again.
"Have you seen Kile?" I ask again.
"No, Your Highness. Raoul, Harrison, and Winslow are gone, though. Raoul left a note, asking you to pardon his departure. Witnesses saw the other two leave. They either fled out of fear, or joined the rebels. It's unclear."
We stare at each other, both in shock I think.
After another shared moment of silence, I dismiss him with a nod.
Where is Kile? I need to find him. I also need to shower, get dressed, and maybe catch up on the state of the castle. But first? Just like Dad ordered: rest.
I tap my bare foot, waiting for Heath, who is very busy in some argument with a circle of guards. Hello? I'm the future Queen. Someone walk me to my room for a nap.
Ugh. I hear myself and I am sick of it all.
I need alone time anyway. I slip out of the room and down the hall toward my parent's room. I know I should not be about without guards, but I told my dad, my mom, and Erik where I was going.
Heath can catch up when he has a minute. Arrogant goon. No, I berate myself. He didn't do anything. It was me, all along it was me.
I get to their room and the pictures on their walls reduce me to tears. Curling up into a ball under their deluxe comforter, I immediately fall into an exhausted sleep.
 

A fanfiction series based on Keira Cass's The Selection novels. Part 3:

The Pain of a New Leaf

"They're gathering everyone in the West Parlor," a guard says from behind me. "Until we secure the castle and grounds."
Mom's recovery room is flanked with guards. Kadan, Osten, Lucy, May, and Marlee murmur on the other side of the room, giving me a moment with Mom.
"Mom?" I whisper.
She finds my hand and wraps hers around it. The tubes attaching her to machines freak me out. A cold sweat prickles my skin. She's never been sick like this. My whole life she's been my rock, strong and smiling, on the sidelines cheering me on, telling me I can do this Highness thing.
Now, lying there so fragile and vulnerable, I feel my own heart squeeze. My mom. My lovely mom.
This whole morning has been surreal. Unnerving. Wrong. 
"It's alright, dear. It's not the first time the castle has been breached. We need to be smart and stay safe," Mom says, in a slow but steady voice. "We'll sit tight until your father and the guards have this under control. I'm so glad they found you. I was so worried."
Kadan steps forward and puts his hand on Mom's shoulder. "Her blood pressure was skyrocketing, Eadlyn. It stabilized when you walked in."
My little brother sounds serious and mature. How are you calm? I want to ask. Because inside I am a freaking hurricane of panic. But to ask him that would expose my weakness, and probably nettle him.
"The Selection boys are all accounted for in the ante room," Kadan says primly.
I internally kick myself for not asking about them.
"The West Parlor is overflowing with castle staff," he says. "It should be secure soon, in minutes."
"This is a disaster," I can't help but murmur.
Kadan nods. Mom keeps her face stoic.
"Why?" I ask. "Why is this happening? I know I wasn't doing a good job with the Selection but I thought it was distracting enough to buy us time. I didn't see this coming. I thought the riots were on the outskirts, and that Camille's visit had been successful."
Mom pats my hand. Her hand is cool, lighter than I remember, and her skin looks so thin, the veins so fragile beneath it. I draw my eyes to her face. Her eyes are in deep, bruised-looking hollows.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry," I say in a broken whisper.
I don't say the rest of my apology. It was me who ran Ahren off. It was me who couldn't put on a decent Selection, despite so many generations before me pulling it off without a hitch. It's me turning my country against me. I'm cold. I heartlessly kick boys out, lift my chin, and snub the rest without even meaning to. Because that's me.
I won't burden her with this, I realize. It's the first smart thing I've done as the new me. The me without tiaras and heels, the me I want to be now. I do not tell Mom about my guilt, my doubts, and my visceral fear. Instead, I rise and kiss her forehead.
"Get some rest, Mom. I'll be right here."
She blinks, maybe in surprise, it's hard to tell with the landscape of her face so altered. The ivory tone of her skin has no life to color her cheeks or pinken her lips. There's no spark hidden in her gaze. I give her hand one more squeeze and angle my chin at Lucy and Marlee. They immediately gravitate out of the corner to keep her company. They are able to do the job of reassuring her. Another job I am not equipped to perform.
If I had listened to my old instincts, I would have dumped my confessions on her hospital bed, bleeding her of any hope she has left. Handing her my guilt would only make me feel better--and it wouldn't be a real kind of feeling better. And what would my sadness do to her heart? I won't do that to her. That was the old me, full of insecurity and selfish needs.
I straighten and turn to the nearest guard.
"My father?" I ask pointedly. I'm turning a new leaf but I'm still the future queen and they should have apprised me of the situation by now.
"Sorry, Your Highness. General Leger is with him in the secure communications room. They are making an address to the people."
I am frozen. In anger, yes. Without knowing I am safe, without me at his side, he is addressing our people?
I pinch my lips and nod to the guard. After ten full breaths in and out of my nose, I am able to open my mouth again and ask him to find the head guard, whomever is under Leger. I should know that, I realize, but to my chagrin, all guards look the same to me. Neena would not like me to admit that.
A new guard approaches me with enough hesitation that I know he's the one I want. I nod to the corner and we meet there.
First, I snap, "Name?"
He seems stunned I don't know and says, "Heath, Your Highness. I'm sorry I didn't brief you. I was assigning patrols to secure the periphery. The castle is clean—safe, I mean. You can rest assured we drove the rebels out."
I want to lash out. How'd they get in? How long did it take to get them gone? What did they take? How many are hurt? I thought we were secure! I'll never feel that again, in my own home. But that's not his fault, like my cold demeanor isn't really my own. 
That thought zings me with panic. It's true though, I've been raised to be queen. Not to be kind or friendly or charming. My parents capably raised someone like that: Ahren. But for me it was always responsibility, control, power...the things I would need to shoulder when I ascended.
A little bit of guilt flies off my shoulders. I didn't get this way on purpose. No one meant to make me this way. I'm not flawed (I don't think). I can change.
And change I will.

A fanfiction series based on Keira Cass's The Selection novels. Part 2:

Seige

I wake up in a strange room and I am not in my silk pajamas. I hesitate an instant before screaming for Neena.
Then I remember.
This is Kile's room, and I fell asleep on him last night, most likely drooling or snoring and embarrassing myself thoroughly. Neena will kill me. I hope she covered for me with Mom at breakfast.
Mom! I need to see her!
Breakfast! The Selection! The boys will be waiting for me!
But—where is Kile? Was I that horrible of a sleeper? We were making out...I was feeling reckless...but he just pressed my cheek to his chest and stroked my hair until I drifted off.
His room is a mess, pencils, papers, models of houses, clothing draped and notes to himself posted here and there. It makes me smile. It's so him.
I stand up and look for my robe, finding it puddled in his desk chair. Then I see a note on his desk in his scrabbly writing.
Eady,
Something is up. I'm checking it out. Wait for me here.
Yours, Kile
I want to obsess on what he means by 'yours' and how he decided to write that over other words.
But he's right. Something is off. The castle is quiet and usually I would have been missed by now. Neena would lead them here. It's so late. I've never slept this late in my life.
I peek out the door. Not one guard. Now I know something is up.
I creep to my room and find the door ajar. My heart crawls up my throat but I find enough bravery to step into the room, not even knowing what I'm scared of, just that nothing is right.
My room has been torn apart. Words on the wall, written in my favorite lipstick color:
NEVER OUR QUEEN
Gasping, I sit on my bed. What is this? My tiaras are gone. My desk rifled through, my bed covers tossed around the room, my wardrobe is strewn about, and my closet empty with loose hangers clustered at odd angles down.
Never in my life has such chaos come into the castle. Before my parents married and abolished the castes, there were rebellions. Once even an infiltration of the castle...but now? So close to my reign? After their beloved queen had a heart attack?
Well, I guess no one knows what happened to Mom.
What if they got to Mom? I race down the empty hall, up the south elevator, and through the small ballroom to the medical wing. It's the shortest way I know. I see no one on my path, just more heirlooms smashed, furniture overturned, paintings slashed. A man is stationed at the hospital doors. I stop mid-run.
He's squinting at me, and then running toward me. I turn and race the way I came. He's not in uniform, and I couldn't see his face. What if he's the one who did all this?
He's behind me. Calling my name. So close.
He snags my waist and I almost fall forward on my face, but he draws me up to his chest, so my back is pressing his front.
"Eadlyn, hold on, it's me, Hale."
"Oh my gosh!" I turn and see that yes, it's him. But all his fashionable clothes are gone, and he's in ripped pants of thick material and a dingy button up.
"What happened?" I ask.
"They're all so worried about you. Where were you? They thought the protestors got you. A whole squad is out there right now trying to hunt you down. We have to get inside. Come on," he leads me through the first door where five guards are in uniform standing alert. They rush to me, each one running somewhere to share the news of me being found.
Hale tugs my hand and takes me through two more doors, with more guards after each.
"Everyone came here since your mom can't be moved. The guards tripled up."
"When?"
"It all just happened, like, an hour ago. Maybe less. We were sure you'd been taken like..."
"Like who?" I say, gripping his hand tightly. "Who?"
But then I see my mother. I race to her side, kneel, and weep into her sheet. She is wan, without make-up, and wires are hooked into her nose and hand.
"Mom," I snuffle." She pats my head. Osten and Kaden step up behind me, trying to hug me and reassure themselves that I am here.
"I'm safe," I say. "And confused." I scan the room: May, Lucy, Marlee, Neena, other familiar family house staff, Erik, Henri, Hale, Ean, the three other Selection boys.
"Where is Dad? General Leger? The rest of the staff and Selection boys?"

Hello, my lovely gregorific readers!
This year starts with more fiction on this blog! Can I get a Woot? 
If you haven't read The Selection series, you are going to want to go out and read them now. I'll wait.

Go ahead.

Because every month you will get a new gregorific chapter of my fanfiction Eadlyn Selects here, on gregorific.com. My fanfiction novel uses Keira Cass's characters and so can never be its own book on the store shelves. BUT it can be enjoyed and read here. I am proud to say that over ten thousand readers have enjoyed it on Wattpad where I first wrote it. Not everyone wants to go to Wattpad, so here you go! Get hooked. I dare you.  

Open the book's front cover...read the flap:

​It's all her fault. 

She was supposed to distract the country with the first ever Princess led Selection. Things could not have gone worse. She looked like an ice queen, insulted half of them, and was manhandled by two--so far.  Now her mom is in surgery after a heart attack and her twin brother has fled the country rather than be subjected to her cynicism.  And she has proof now, Ahren told her, it's her that the country objects to; no one thinks she has what it takes to be Queen. 

And you know what? Maybe she doesn't. 

This book begins with Eadlyn at her lowest, and shows who she can rely on when the saftey net is gone.  She has no choice but to be vulnerable, and the boys of The Selection know it. When her guard is finally down....who has what it takes to win this reluctant bride?

*All characters belong to Keira Cass* *Her book and all rights are her property . While I enjoy using them, I acknowledge they are hers entirely. Keira, you rock!*

#Pantsuitpower
Got to get me a pantsuit. 

If I buy it, then I'll be able to dance like that. Right? 

Worth a try, 
~gregorific

Each September when the kids go back to school, I have an absolute heyday of writing energy. Last year, that's when I queried a bunch of agents with my edgy YA novel, The Shadowgrove Group Home for Girls. By January, I had signed with CK Webber Associates Literary Management. I have been very pleased with their representation. 

This year, I had several other goals, and I'm well on my way with most of them. I spend most of my writing days revising, editing, plotting, and researching my novels. But I like to keep my writing fresh and versatile. So I decided to enter some free contests. I use the themes and contest topics as writing prompts.
 
To my delight, I have won some of the contests. I already posted some of the wattpad wins. Surprise surprise, it feels good to win. 

And...here is another contest that I won!

I am thrilled because not only is it a true essay, it is about something important to me. Also, the prize money was a nice boon. I flapped the check around the house...for about a week.   

This essay won first prize in A Better Way to Work with People essay contest. 

The Best Medicine
 
I’m old so my story is old. Back when I was twenty six, I got a job as an Adherence Specialist for people living with HIV and AIDS. I was fresh out of grad school. I had no experience. I barely understood the job title. I was lured the idea that I could help people who were really in need.  

My passion to help others is part of who I am. It’s how I was raised and how I want to live; it’s what I teach my kids, and how I want to be remembered. I took the job to help people in need…but the problem was that they did not want my help.

This had not occurred to me when I took the job, but it made a lot of sense when I thought about it. As Adherence Specialist, I was to go to all the public clinics, look at the records of med pick-ups, and determine who was not on track taking their meds. I was supposed to identify, reach out to, and problem solve with those individuals. The key to HIV/AIDS drug therapy is adherence. If you skip doses the meds become less and less effective. And at that time, there were only so many options for meds. If you wore them all out, then you had no options for treatment.

I tried a lot of intervention styles to reach out to my clients. They were a tough bunch because they were the noncompliant. They missed meds, and often appointments. It was hard to get a working phone number and harder to meet up. Once I’d get someone on the line or in a meeting room, I tried to explain the importance of the meds. I tried to identify barriers to their picking up meds: transportation, privacy, time off from work, mental and physical health problems. The lists were long. Progress was slow and difficult. There was a lot of backsliding.

I knew they saw me as a young whippersnapper who had no clue what they were going through. I think some met with me out of pity and others were bored. It was hard to break through this perception because it was mostly accurate.   

Then I had a brainstorm. I was really worried about a client who had kids and was living in an abusive home situation. She had no job, money, or car. It seemed like some of those things needed to be helped before I could really expect her to pick up and religiously take her meds. She needed a safe place. Yet she would not listen to my practical suggestions. My brainstorm was when I realized who she would listen to.

She didn’t need me. She needed peers. While I had sincere love and compassion for her situation, and for all of my clients, I wasn’t able to connect meaningfully. Once I could admit that, I worked hard to get approval, funding, and cooperation for what they did need.

They needed each other. A safe place to complain about: side effects, lovers, the counselors, the system, the cruelty of fate. They needed to hear each other out and then offer reality checks. Their reality. Not mine.

What I did was connect the dots. In their lives, where was the money? The drug companies had the money. I wrote a simple grant to the pharmaceutical company that made the most popular of the HIV/AIDs meds. It was in their best interest to have clients take their meds accurately, thereby showing the efficacy. With the funds, I lined up a meeting place, staff (to be in the background providing info and security), and incentives like the occasional raffle, or attendance prizes.

I won’t bore you with the stats, but just having a place to go and talk helped their adherence rates rise. The correlation was strong. The more meetings attended, the more accurate the med pick ups were. Meds, a support system, education, and case management were important to helping these individuals improve their adherence. But it was the love and compassion of their peers that made the biggest difference in their overall health trajectory. 

​As I mentioned, I’m older now and I haven’t had a paying job in a while. But the lesson learned has stayed with me. Being heard and understood with love and compassion can sometimes be the best medicine. 

​Risk it, 
​~gregorific

The Pursuit of Coffee

​There comes a point in every coffee lover’s life that they need to ask themselves: How far will I go?
I have reached this point several times, given that I have gone caffeine free several times. Once back on the bean, I find I will do what it takes to get my java. 

Situation: Camping with the Girl Scouts. Sure, they say they’ll use the kettle over the fire with some instant brew. But that sounds…iffy. I have to help (or wait for someone to) start the fire. Then wait for water to boil. And then the worst: share. Everyone probably wants a cup to help wash away the residue of the night. (It’s always something: mice nest under the mattress, leaks, snores, freezing, a couple kids on you, a crier, noises…) 
I drink more than a mere cup. So I import mini cans of Starbucks Doubleshots. It does the opposite of what you’d think. Knowing I have my stash helps me sleep at night.

​Situation: Traditional Family Travel. Hotels are my friends. Most have open, usually well-stocked coffee centers in the lobbies. If we’re leaving in a hurry, I have family members get me my second and third cups. Like human cup holders, they are there when I need them. 

Situation: Lack of Enablers. At one point, Mr. Gregorific did not fully comprehend my prescriptive use of coffee. My jonesing conflicted with his scrooging. Take Disney Land. We were in a massive hurry to get there exactly when the gates opened to get our money’s worth, a loaded term if I’ve ever heard one.
Initially, I was on board with this goal, with the promise of a coffee stop en route. But then we hit traffic. The coffee stop had to be bumped to first thing when we walk in.
We walk in and the closest kiosk displays the doomsday news: coffee is about fifty bucks. Well, that’s how Mr. Gregorific saw it. He mentally computes the price of beans, water, heat, and materials used to make the cup. Or something close to that. Once he has a number in his head, paying more is like asking him for a kidney. 
Not me. Certain things are worth a kidney (his). I purchased one cup, and swallowed it down along with comments about how I was basically drinking gold.
I had a lot of time to think while standing in lines. And more lines. And chasing after Princesses and Godmothers and such. At some point, I decided it was my turn.
I made sure each kid’s hand was being held and then proclaimed, “You know what? It’s a small world, I’m going for coffee, let me know how they like the ride.” I hear they loved it. Almost as much as I did my fresh cup of hot liquid gold. 

Other obstacles crop up even when I have all my grounds in a row at home.  
Situation: No milk. Okay, don’t panic. Do you have powdered milk? Do you have yogurt? Yogurt is a last resort but it’s better (to me) than drinking it black. Sure, the yogurt forms blobs of curds on the top, but just close your eyes. 

​Situation: Broken/lost carafe. How does this happen? Well, I sometimes take the carafe in the car so I can refill. Then I leave it in the car. Then someone takes the car to work. In this case, I have the coffee machine but not the perfect trigger to start the coffee dripping. I use a fork to milk/drip it into a mug. Perhaps this is dangerous. Risk of electrocution? Worth it.
Situation: Accidentally bought unground coffee, and you don’t own or you broke your grinder. Well, you have a blender, right? You have a mortar and pestle? A strong arm and a Ziplock bag? 

Basically, you do what it takes.
Hmmm…is there a group for this? I bet they serve great coffee.
Caffeine wishes,
~gregorific