"Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?"
-- Albert Camus
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| 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."
