I drank too much coffee today. I did yesterday too. I drink to much coffee in general. It’s not ruining my life, but it’s definitely making it weirder.
Coffee is the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about when I can’t sleep at night because I’ve had too much. You know that pornographic sigh of pleasure and relief that people let out after their first morning sip? As a little girl, I thought that was just an affectation of adults around me and in coffee commercials, but now I experience it every day. I never knew I would be this person—this cliche of an American adult.
My coffee problem is getting in the way of my productivity. Sure, it starts off as a beautiful, clean jolt of energy, but that energy mutates. I start out gliding, like a top of the line, well-oiled, productivity machine; but I wind up frenetically puttering about, like a malfunctioning robot shooting sparks out of all my sprockets.
Over-caffeinated, I hurtle around clumsily, frenzied with the nervous energy, face twitching like a shneefed up caricature coke-head and all I can think about is coffee—how I want it, how I had too much, how I should quit … tomorrow.
Wired and paranoid, coffee is even screwing up my non-coffee related thoughts. My mind races and I think rapid, horrible, no-good thoughts about myself. I sweat and my temper is short. I can’t form any real ideas because my brain is in a rush. Can you tell I’m over-caffeinated right now?
My brain knows that the caffeine is making me act like a freak, but that doesn’t stop my body from autonomously seeking it out. It’s the same twitchy physics that make the self-hating thoughts pick up speed that also drives me to stand up and start preparing two massive jars of cold-brew so that I can have a supply at home for the next few days, if I can make it last that long.
God, I love cold-brew; it’s such a treat and basically the only thing I like about summertime. I also love hot coffee, milky or black, sweet or bitter. It’s not just the energy, it’s the flavor. I could listen to coffee nerds and baristas talk shop forever; hearing pretentious details about beans and brewing techniques is basically erotic.
Complaining about a (sort of) pretend addiction to something that society collectively decided isn’t even really drug is just embarrassing. What have I become? Why don’t I just start calling it java and tell people not to talk to me before I’ve had my morning cup? God, why don’t I just marry the stuff?
I’ve been kvetching about my coffee habit relentlessly to the people around me, and a number of respectable, productive non-maniacs that I know have clued me in on how they keep their cool. Their trick? … Restricting or eliminating coffee. They know the racing thoughts and the weird sweating, the frenetic typing and rushed brain. They got their shit under control and I want to as well. At least I think I do.
I’ve compiled a personal pros and cons list of coffee:
perks me right up
helps with concentration
reduces risk of Type 2 Diabetes
I love it
increased anxiousness and irritability
makes me a shitty typist and self editor
I act like a freak
makes me concentrate on the wrong stuff
can’t sleep at night
So that’s 5 pros and 6 cons. I can’t live like this anymore. Maybe I’ll start by scaling it back, just one cup in the morning, then just one cup on weekend mornings, then just as a treat or in case of emergency. Maybe I should go cold turkey or become a de-caf person.
Am I even ready to stop? I don’t know, maybe I’ll think more clearly after another cup.