There’s a loud, ringing sound. It’s jarring, waking me from the otherwise cozy warmth that is my bed. I am forced to stick my hand, then my entire arm out from under the safety of my bedclothes in order to turn it off. To snooze or not to snooze? It will just go off in another seven minutes. I may as well get up now. The sooner I do, the sooner I get to see my best friend.
Groggy, bleary eyes, rubbing sleep from my face and half stumbling I wander into the kitchen, hearing the relations of my best friend finish up their duty. The slow gurgling eventually gasps to a halt and the last few drips drain into the pot below.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
My coffee is done. My best friend is here.
Quickly, or as quickly as I can, I rush to the cabinet for a mug to pour myself some, suddenly oblivious to the previous issues that plagued me. I no longer feel the stiffness in my back and neck, or the weight of my eyelids; I only see coffee, smell coffee, want coffee.
It’s divine the way its murky, silky blackness pours so seamlessly into my favorite mug. It is the start to a perfect day. I think to myself, “What would I do without you, my best friend?” I never say it aloud, that would be silly. The coffee would not answer. If it could though, I think it would say something funny like, “You’d probably still be in bed,” and then we would have a chuckle before I got my day started.
I wonder for a second, before I take my first glorious sip of the morning, when was the last time I started a day without coffee. I think hard, and for longer than I mean to; I cannot remember the last time I started a day without coffee. I do not remember meeting coffee at all. The way it waltzed into my life was so casual, and so meant to be, that it was as if it had always been there.
Blowing quickly on the surface of the liquid I take the first sip. It is still too hot, but at this point I do not care. I need it. It is more than a best friend. It is like a drug to me. Drinking more deeply from my mug I feel the caffeine flood my system. My skin breaks out into a delicate sweat, and I feel my heart beat slightly faster. This is the real beginning of my day. I no longer understand how to wake up without this, and frankly do not want to wake up any other way. Some may see this and think coffee is my crutch, but really it is just a dear friend I use to get out of bed in the morning. That is what I tell myself as I pour myself another mug and grab the paper.
Sitting at my desk later in the morning, now with my third mug of coffee, I wonder again about our relationship.
“When did it actually start? I didn’t start drinking it with friends. They didn’t like it. So it must have been before they wanted to drink coffee. Have I been drinking coffee that long?”
I have. Like an estimated forty-seven percent of individuals today, I started drinking coffee before I was out of high school and I never looked back. Taking another deep sip from my mug as I thought about what was ahead for the day, I wondered briefly if I drank too much, or if I had always drank this much. I have always drank this much. I am sure of it, and I put the matter to rest or I try to as I start to map out my day. I notice I have had three mugs before nine a.m. and I tell myself this is normal.
Later in the day I note I have not had any coffee for a few hours. This is normal for me. I typically do not have any after my third or fourth mug. During the afternoon, however, I do feel more tired than normal, and I start to get drowsy.
“A little afternoon pick-me-up can’t hurt,” I think as I begin to look for a café.
It no longer matters where the coffee comes from, just that it is coffee. I prefer the coffee I brew myself, but desperate times call for desperate measures and any café will do when I have the whole day ahead of me.
This day I have trouble finding a café and I begin to realize my desire to be reunited with an old friend quickly turns into a desperate need to feel caffeine running wild through my veins.
“Why are there not more cafes on this block?” I wonder in an outrage.
While I do not remember when I began drinking coffee, I do begin to wonder when I did not drink it at all. I was young, and I remember having more energy then. I did not need an alarm clock and if I did have one, I do not think I ever would have hit the snooze button. I was always the first person in my house to be up, and I was always ready for the day. When I was younger, I started days with a big glass of milk or cold water. I would eat bowls of cereal; those were my best friend.
I never felt the need in the afternoons to seek out milk, water, or cereal as if they would keep me alive. Those relationships were not like this. Was coffee my best friend or did it just have a hold on me that I still was unable to admit?
“No,” I tell myself. “Everything is fine. You’re just tired.”
I remember my parents drinking coffee then like I do now. I always wondered why they never had any energy even though they would tell me coffee gives you energy. They would often demand I wait with my questions or requests until after they had had their coffee, after they had gotten their energy.
If coffee gives so much energy, why did they always move so slow and seem so tired? And why did large bags form under their eyes, similar to the ones that I sometimes noticed under mine?
I did not have long to think about these ideas; a café had finally been located. I entered it quickly, letting the sweet smell of my best friend carry my away. I knew soon I would be able to get my fix and carry on with my day. How long had I needed coffee to carry on with my day? Another question that would go unanswered for now; there was no line and I could get my coffee immediately.
The woman serving me was unfriendly, but this did not bother me as long as she served me correctly. I paid and waited, impatiently. Why did nobody seem to understand the spiritual bond I felt I had with coffee. While others would brush off my complaints of being tired or stretched too thinly, coffee heard me. When friends and family insisted I, “just get up,” and get on with my day, coffee was there, understanding I needed a boost to get things going. It was there to give me a boost whenever I needed it, and however often. If a person and a beverage could be spiritually connected, coffee and I were that. As I thought these things I could not help but notice the café employees move painfully slow in the preparation of my drink. It was so slow I was almost compelled to yell at them, demand my money back, or demand more coffee.
Finally it was done and the smell immediately wafted up my nose. It calmed me; soon relief and energy would flood my body and I could finally finish my day. Sitting on a bench outside so I could enjoy time with my dear friend, coffee, in peace, my mind wandered back over the questions I had in mind earlier.
When was the last time I had gone an entire afternoon without needing coffee?
Much like many of my other questions, I could not remember. I only remember that once I was able to do it. It felt like there was an earlier version of me, a version I no longer recognized who was able to get through an entire day without coffee, and with energy to spare. What were they doing differently that made me need coffee so badly to get through a day? What had this earlier version of me made a part of their day that constituted me as a caffeine addict in order to make it back into bed at night only to begin the whole cycle again when I woke up the next morning?
I thought all of this as I sipped my coffee some more, simultaneously calmed by its presence and energized by its caffeine. The earlier version of me drank more water, slept more, and ate better. They did things that they enjoyed more often, rather than things they were forced to do. They were happier.
“Coffee makes me happy though. I do not need those other things,” I thought to myself.
I was true; coffee did make me very happy. It made me so happy I sometimes wondered if I would ever find a human friend who would make me as happy.
“But is it real happiness? It is just a drink.”
This was difficult to reconcile, especially since I had finished my coffee. As usual, it was a question I would not be able to answer because I had to get back to my daily routine and now that I was caffeinated, there was no time to worry about such nonsense as whether or not I was a caffeine addict or whether I genuinely enjoyed coffee.
Later that night I managed to make it home without having my usual cup of coffee later in the evening. I could not escape the thoughts as the day wore on, and I wanted to see if I was even able to do such a thing. I was, but at great cost to myself and those around me. My head began to ache greatly, and I began to snap at people around me for doing nothing at all. Everything became irritating, and all I wished to do was either drink coffee or go home and sit in the dark. The splitting headache was unforgiving, and I wondered if it was coffee’s way of punishing me for questioning our bond.
As I performed my nightly routine before bed that night, I set the timer on my coffee pot, reconciling that though an earlier version of me did not need it, I did now and I was fine with it. I was more than fine with it because coffee did make me happy and there was nothing to be ashamed of about that. More than a pot a day was likely a normal rate to drink coffee, and I wondered if I even drank that much every day.
Setting the timer and flicking off the light, I made a silent promise never to question my relationship with coffee ever again. I knew then the bond we had was something others just did not understand and what I had done was foolish. Six cups, seven cups, eight cups, what was the use in counting when a beverage was so important to your day you needed it to feel as though you were really alive?
I lay in bed, drifting off to sleep, excited for the cup of coffee that would greet me in the morning.
References
Amidor, T. (2015, June 11). Ask the Experts: When Can Kids Start Drinking Coffee? Retrieved from Healthline: http://www.healthline.com/health/childrens-health/experts-when-can-kids-drink-coffee
Dealing With Caffeine Withdrawal. (2013, April 13). Retrieved from One Medicale: http://www.onemedical.com/blog/live-well/caffeine-withdrawal/
Schmid, J. (2017). 7 Signs You’re Drinking Too Much Coffee. Retrieved from Reader's Digest: http://www.rd.com/health/wellness/drinking-too-much-coffee/
Stromberg, J. (2013, August 9). This Is How Your Brain Becomes Addicted to Caffeine. Retrieved from Smithsonian: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/this-is-how-your-brain-becomes-addicted-to-caffeine-26861037/
Weinstock, J. (2016, September 30). 20 Signs You’re In A Full Blown Relationship With Coffee. Retrieved from Elite Daily: http://elitedaily.com/life/relationship-with-coffee/1628355/
