Sunday, November 14, 2010

Confessions of a Coffee Addict

For some reason coffee is a horrible thing. It is horrible because of what it does to me. It is also wonderful for the very same reason. Lately I've been on a tea drinking binge. This has been mostly due to the fact that teabags are easier to deal with when my mind is zombified than a French press and grinder. This morning however, I braved the grinder and dark roasted beans. It was glorious, but it also reminded me why I have been avoiding the stuff.

The problem is that when I make coffee, I have to make a whole pot. When I make a whole pot I drink it. The first sip of the stuff is divine. Then there is the rush of stimulant. Not wanting to stop, I keep drinking it. Then it moves from just a slight stimmed buzz to a jittery stomach bubbling ick fest. The combination of the high acid levels and caffiene takes me to a place of shaking and sweating with intervals of speed talking. Not to mention the lovely dehydration that kicks in about an hour after I finished drinking the whole pot of coffee.

Yet, I keep craving the bitter flavor. Darker, more bitter, and bolder than any tea I can steep, coffee has a special place in my gastrointestinal track and cardiovascular system. Even now, as I smell the remnants of my morning's indulgence, I feel the consequences and drool simultaneously. Something must be wrong with me if I can keep doing this to myself. I feel like an undergraduate who has gone binge drinking, still regretting the beer bong from the night before but not enough to prevent me from drinking again. After all, where would I be without my morning brew? I'd be a zombie in a ditch somewhere with a calm stomach and halfclosed eyes. Triple shot of espresso chased by some Kenyan? Yes please! I'll take the acid any day.
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