My morning cup of coffee is one of my favorite parts of the day. Not just the coffee itself, but the whole routine. I just love mornings in general. It’s like a Folgers commercial- except that Kristen typically sleeps later than I do so instead of the smell of coffee waking her up and leading her into the kitchen, it’s the cats that come stumbling in half-awake and yawning. I love making it in the french press, I love waiting the four minutes it takes to brew knowing I’m about to have it, and most of all I love drinking it out of the blood splattered mug Kristen made for me (no, not real blood- that would have been an awkward gift to receive).
I can’t check my e-mail or get a head start on the day’s work without it. I picked up smoking right at the end of college and that nasty little habit lasted a few years. The hardest part about quitting was that there were certain situations I just associated with having a cigarette. That seemed like an impossible road block to get past. Well, now coffee’s the same way. I traded in one vice for another.
Which is why it breaks my heart to finally admit to myself that it does absolutely nothing for me anymore. I didn’t even drink coffee until I worked for a terrible, terrible corporation that sounds vaguely like Shmarshmucks. A few years on the other side of that counter and you build up quite a tolerance to caffeine (but not the shit attitudes of 90% of your customers, sadly). Although my coffee consumption has decreased dramatically since leaving that job, I still make it stronger than most people would enjoy. It’s also misleading to call it a cup. It’s more like two and a half or three. Sometimes if I’ve got a lot to get through or I’m working out that day, I’ll have some more in the afternoon as well.
I’ve long since suspected my attachment had become purely psychological and that I wasn’t actually reaping any benefits. It can’t even be considered speculation at this point- it’s a big, fat fact staring me right in the face. I spent a fair amount of my Saturday editing one of our films, writing another, and working on this comic. I could barely keep my eyes open through any of it. It’s thirteen hour days like those where I really, truly need that kick and I didn’t even get a polite nudge.
Of course I’ll still drink it. If for no other reason than there’s not a safer vice to graduate to. Something tells me checking my e-mails while freebasing will lead to days infinitely more disappointing than this past Saturday.
So you win, coffee. You’re like the trophy wife who started out smoking hot then signed a prenup, gained thirty pounds, and started living in sweatpants. We’re in this for the long haul, you and I- but that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s bullshit you’ve failed to live up to your end of the bargain.
Take care, friends. We’ll see you next week!
