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I’m Addicted to Coffee but I Wouldn’t Dream of Changing

coffee

coffee coffee coffee

What is dependency? What is addiction? If I can’t force myself to leave the house without the promise of coffee, is that a problem? If I buy more than one, sometimes more than two, and rarely but not too rarely more than three coffees a day, is that really so terrible? Is it childlike and irresponsible, or is it supremely adultlike and admirable?

If I, after arriving in Boston (the city of my alma mater and priceless collegiate memories), think only of bed and of ending everything because there is no coffee in the house and the nearest coffee shop is across a bridge and through the rain, what does that mean?

My brain is made up of chemicals. My body is an assemblage of elements and amino acids. My hair is a collection of grease, sweat, and whatever kind of weird shampoo I used this morning. Also, it is made of keratin. But my heart is made of coffee. It is coffee that runs through my veins and brings light into the world.

Entire worldviews have shifted because of caffeine-deprivation. Wars have started and / or ended because of the magic bean. And it is the magic bean.

Oh coffee, you make my heart beat faster. You make my veins constrict and make it difficult to focus and my hands shake. You open up entire worlds of possibilities and the ability to love. You make it possible to run across freeways in the sun and find shelter in the rain.

I think I’m addicted, but I don’t want to be any other way.

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