Wednesday, October 5, 2011


For the time being, I enjoy my morning coffee.

As it was in the beginning, and unto the ages. Amen.

Some years back, though, I quit drinking it. Coffee, I decided, revs me up a just little too much.

A few years later I started up again. It happened on a morning when I felt unusually sluggish. What the hell, I reasoned – that most notorious of reasonings.

So I made a cup and drank it up. My work that morning went very well.

And that's all it took! I fell off the coffee wagon very hard; was back to my old consumption rate in no time.

I typically only drink two or three cups a day. The thing is, I like it strong. My latent, inner Parisian wants beans from far-flung regions, dark-roasted and ground to a fine powder, Turkish style. It makes a powerful cup.

But that stuff just gets me too cranked up. So eventually, I quit again.

Now, another year gone by, I'm back on it. Got started again the same way: I needed the jump-start.

I do not drink it guiltlessly. It's only coffee, I rationalize. But the truth is I feel much the way I felt when a younger, stupider me started smoking, quit, started again, quit again, etc etc, before finally quitting for good.

So before too much longer, I'm sure to give coffee up...again.

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