The problem is, what if you don't think your problem is a problem? Is this a problem?
How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? Just making sure you're still with me. :)
It's innocent enough, really. It's not hurting anyone. I don't pressure others into trying it, and I don't miss work or social events because of it. If anything, I believe it enhances my personality, my drive, my stamina, my Me-ness, if you will.
Sure, I do drive while it's effects are still in my system. Hell, often, I'm driving my kids around WHILE I'm doing it. It's the first thing I think of when I open my eyes.
Lately, I'm dreaming about it (seriously).
My tolerance has increased, so I often need another fix in the afternoon. There have been rare occassions when it has happened a third time, around 5 pm...but that's normally only if I am heading out to go to zumba and need a little kick in the pants.
It's coffee. Not just Folgers people. I'm talkin, the hard stuff.
It all started so innocently. We were vacationing with many of my husband's family. The older siblings would hover around the coffee maker, just waiting for that trickle to begin. I looked at them like a bunch of crackheads; standing in heated anticipation, cups clentched in their hands.
WTH is wrong with these whack jobs? I thought.
Until I surrendered. I had a small cup, just out of curiosity. I only tried it once. Like heroin, apparently it's grip is tight. That was it.
The next morning, I stood in line like a baby bird, waiting for mama to chew up the worms. Where was mine? Would there be enough? 'OMG, what is happening????' I asked myself.
And now, 8 years later, I'm a hardcore junkie. I refuse to give it up. You are not the boss of me. You cannot make me.
I was so happy when a little drive thru coffee shop opened in my town. Having no chains like a Starbucks or Kaldi's, this was like Heaven had finally shone down upon our small community. The Coffee Cabin had a drive thru window on each side. It was a tiny little place, but the menu was endless. I quickly became spoiled by the beautiful espresso-filled creations that came from Sarah and Connie's impressive minds. Each day, they would feature a flavor on their board. Sarah, the master-mind behind most of them, was very innovative. I became completely obsessed with her iced Americano, as it came sweetened to perfection, with just the right amount of cream. I've never found another barista who can even come close.
Sadly, the Coffee Cabin closed its doors when the economy's decline became too much for them to recover from. I was so obsessed, and had become such good friends with the owners, that I actually launched a Save the Coffee Cabin rally. We hung flyers, it was featured in the local newspaper....people were making donations and we all worked to save our little cup of heaven.
The building itself has been relocated, and sits vacant in the lot of a nearby grocery store. Each time I pass it, I think of my daily trip after dropping my daughter off at school. If there were some sort of family emergency, and the Open sign was not lit when I approached, I honestly felt a twinge in my soul. OMG...How can this be?
I'll admit, some days I was there more than once. My kids loved to go thru that drive thru and toss coins into the tip jar that sat on the windowsill. Sarah and Connie knew to take cover, as 5 was quite the flipper of the coins, and someone could easily lose a front tooth should they be silly enough to let their guard down during tip-tossing time.
I'm embarassed to admit that I have a reoccuring dream in which Sarah returns to the area and opens another coffee shop. I wait with anticipation as she prepares my iced Americano, and we catch up on all the latest gossip. Each time, I am so elated, and all is right with the world. Then I wake up, and am so disappointed that it was just a dream. This is quickly followed by the "What the Hell is wrong with me that I am dreaming about coffee AGAIN?" phase. It's sort of like the stages of grief, but relating to coffee addiction.
Once the Cabin closed, I was forced to purchase an espresso machine. I had moved way past the standard brewed coffee phase, people. If it ain't gonna grow hair on your chest, then it is NOT for me!
I've gotten better at my own creations, but they just can't compare to the ones in my dreams. The ones that were once reality. The ones that lit up my mornings, and sometimes my afternoons, and occassionally left me driving while double-fisting espresso.
So, yes, I guess when you put it all down on paper, it may appear as though I have a problem. I don't shoplift. I don't really drink. I don't smoke. I have never tried drugs (it's a good thing, right?). It's my thing. My vice. My heroin. My crack. My ..... oh hell, who am I kidding? It's the thing that helps me survive all the absolute chaos that comes along with being a busy mom, a wife, a business owner, an author, and all the other stuff that people apparently feel I am perfectly capable of handling! :)
Don't worry. When I begin to lose control of my facial expressions, I know I need to back off. I know it's not normal for the nerve in one eye to begin to twitch until it impairs vision. I've acknowledged it, and I avoid it now. LOL
But there's that happy little place when you are still physically tired, yet mentally wired, that seems to be juuuuuuuuust riiiiiiiiight. And, as I type this and my kids rush to the porch to tattle on each other and both continue to raise their voices to speak over one another as they report the other's wrong-doing.....
I'm wondering if a third cup would be going too far?????
:)
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