Wednesday, July 31, 2013


"Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?"

-- Albert Camus

Face composed from rubber donkey teeth, alien eyes and a mustache 7-31-13

"She didn't know what Liam made his coffee with,
but it had to be magical sparkles and crack beans,
because it was the most delicious stuff she'd ever tasted."

-- Rachel Caine, Two Week's Notice

"I'd rather take coffee than compliments just now."

-- Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

I love coffee.
Strong, black, clean, unadulterated by milk or sugar.
I like coffee that has body, texture.
If I could, I would drink cups and cups of it all the live long day.
But I can't.

Due to a handful of health "conditions," (including insomnia and anxiety) I have become one of those unbearable middle aged people who has to carefully limit their caffeine intake. So I allow myself a single cup of coffee in the morning. Sometimes I sneak a second cup, and almost always regret it. Realistically, I'd probably be a lot better off without even drinking the first cup. 

But Jesus. 
I'm battling chronic insomnia. 
Something's got to give. 

To save me from myself chugging a whole pot of temptation, I rely on one of those one-cup brewers that uses the little hermetically-sealed, single-serve plastic pods. 
It makes passable coffee. 
It's drinkable. Just. 
No body. 
No texture.
Just coffee.

On weekends, if my husband brews a pot of "real" coffee, I drink a little demitasse-full.
His coffee is so, so very delicious. 
I savor it. 
I appreciate it. 
I wish for more. 
I try not to give in.

I drove past two Starbucks on my way home from the insomnia clinic yesterday. 
I really, really wanted to stop. 
I got up super early that morning to get to my appointment on time, and I felt like I deserved a little reward for the ride. 
Just a little treat. 
But the list of sleep rules and guidelines laying on the passenger seat was giving me a definite "look." I think it might have even rolled its eyes and made that exasperated sound.

I kept driving.

And don't say, "Why don't you just drink decaf?"
I loathe decaf.
I'd rather drink ink.

Sometimes I get resentful and angry about not being able to enjoy something as seemingly innocent and harmless as a second, or third, cup of coffee.  And if you've been visiting the blog for long, you know what I do when I get resentful or angry or whatever about anything. 

I make a face. 

For obvious reasons, I named this one "Buzz."