Coffee is becoming my lifeblood.
When I was a young warthog, I told myself I would never drink coffee. I saw so many adults, everyone from teachers, my dad, random people I’d see around town, basically addicted to the stuff. They always had it sewed to their hand, with them wherever they went.
I forget when I first tried it. All I remember is that I was revolted. It was this bitter, disgusting mug of black, hot water. Why on earth would anyone drink such swill? Whose idea was this? Were they insane?
Then I got older (as one does) and for whatever reason, it started to seem less gross. Almost tempting. Tantalizing even. But no, I was still firm that I wouldn’t be one of those adults addicted to the stuff.
Here we are today. I can barely get through the day without a cup of Joe. I hate him. I want to break up with him, but I can’t live without the stupid bastard. I don’t even know how it happened. Why would I start drinking something I thought was gross? Don’t remember. Why did it grow on me? Who knows? Yet now, if I could stick an IV into my arm with a constant stream of caffeine, I think I’d be happy. Even now, as I write this, I found myself trying to stay awake, fighting off the tempting call from the kitchen counter.
“Coffee… coffee… You know you want to grind us. Filter us through water. Pour us into a mug and slip the mug between your lips for that first, perfect sip…”
Now, I am enslaved to the stuff. I’m always tired. If I’m not tired, then I’m overtired; which is really more hyper than awake anyway.
Where did it all go wrong?
To save my life, I can’t force my brain to remember. Perhaps it’s Stockholm syndrome? I’ve learned to love something I once hated. As much as I say I want him to let me go, I can’t. I won’t let him. Oh Joe. Fill my veins with your sweet nectar. I’m sure you’ll be the death of me, but at least it’ll be quite the ride.
I need help.
– Alan Holmes, Entertainment Co-Editor