Every morning I wake up before Brian and brew a big pot of coffee for the two of us to share. This gives us each two large mugs to jump start our day, with a little bit left over. It’s a routine we have had for years, and it provides us with the perfect level of caffeine that our coffee addicted bodies crave. Once in a while, however, it happens that Brian won’t actually drink any of the coffee I prepared. Maybe he overslept a bit and quickly leaves for the day, forgetting to grab any Joe to Go. Or perhaps he has the day off and sleeps in so late that I pour myself cup after cup. Before too long, it seems that I have consumed the entire pot all on my own. Suddenly, I’m more than awake – I’m manic.
You see, I love the taste of coffee. I savor every sip of the bitter yet pleasant taste of a superior blend. I don’t use sweetener, but I always add a splash of half and half, and watch happily as it swirls and blends into my java until it’s a lovely shade of creamy brown. You can forget about decaffeinated; I want the real stuff, the high test, the genuine article. It’s always so warm, so yummy, and yet so treacherous when consumed in large quantities. Although a measured amount helps to motivate me each morning, an excess of this tasty beverage turns me into a frenzied lunatic.
Here’s the crazy part: I know what’s going to happen, and I know it won’t end pleasantly, but I do it anyway.
After over indulging, I have plenty of energy, but no absolutely no focus. Time to scrub the tile in the bathroom! No! I’m only halfway through, but I can finish that later – I simply must alphabetize the CD rack! Wait. Look at this dust – it’s time to wash the curtains. How did they get so dirty? What’s this? An over flowing closet? Pull everything out and throw it on the couch, it’s time to sort, organize and/or donate everything inside it! Left unchecked and fueled by strong coffee, I can have the entire household in disarray by noon. Lunch? Who needs it – I’m running on caffeine, baby! I don’t require anything else. This excess of energy appears to be a real boon as it continues unabated until about 3:00 in the afternoon.
That’s when the crash happens. My brain, that until now was buzzing with excitement as it bounced around inside my skull, suddenly stops functioning. Motivation flees from me, and I curl up on the couch even as winter coats and umbrellas cascade around me onto the floor. The sun seems unbearably bright as it shines through my uncovered windows. A Van Morrison CD has been playing on continuous repeat – how many times have I heard Brown Eyed Girl now? Five? Six? – but I lack the ability to rise and turn it off. At this point, I have two options. One, I can rest, and then re-hydrate with a large glass of water and eat something healthy to recharge my system. Or two, I can make more coffee.
Guess what I do?
That’s right, coffee to the rescue! It’s a wonder substance! The best thing ever! I’m part of an elite club of hardcore coffee drinkers! The siren call of coffee is irresistible – I don’t even try to fight it. I’m just another lost soul trying to score my daily dose of caffeinated happiness.
And it’s all fun and games, until late that night. While the rest of the house slumbers, lost in dreamland, I simply lay in bed twitching, incredibly tired but unable to join them in restorative sleep. As I toss and turn, I note the reading on my bedside clock: 2:17 a.m.