My kids think "Mommy" and "Coffee" are synonymous. I think that's
some indication of coffee's omnipotence in our household.
They asked me why my favorite color is brown. I told them,
"Because that's the color of my skin."
They said, "Oh. We thought it was because you love coffee so
much."
"That, too," I admitted.
"They" are five kids in all. The eldest is fifteen. His birth
pretty much marked the beginning of my addiction to caffeine. When
I discovered newborns eat
constantly, I discovered coffee could keep me awake
almost constantly, which was enough.
Well, the kids kept comin' (the youngest is five), so I kept
drinking coffee. Through the years, coffee has graciously provided
me with the waking hours I've needed to feed the hungry, cleanse
the soiled, tend the sick, calm the fearful. Thanks to coffee, I've
lived a charmed (though zombie-like) life.
I never really gave the word "addiction" a second thought
until our first coffeepot fizzled out. A migraine replaced that
lousy old autodrip, so I put two and two together and realized,
"I'm a junkie."
So, yes. My name is 'Ailina, and I'm addicted to coffee.
Do I worry about the health implications of DECADES of
constant coffee-drinking? Yes. Just like I worry about eventually
getting wrinkles, eventually losing teeth, eventually suffering
empty-nest syndrome when the kids are all grown and off to college
to feed their own coffee addictions.
By then, I won't need so many waking hours, and I'll be free
to extract myself from coffee's poisonous jaws.
Or, I'll find I finally have the opportunity to get to that
novel I've always wanted to write, in which case, coffee will again
provide me with the supernatural power of perpetual consciousness.
I'll sell a million copies, get rich, and then I can afford to pay
for the medical care I'll inevitably require to reverse a lifetime
strung out on dark roast.