Alright, I’ve gotta admit that I may have just based the title of this article on the fact that I’m sitting with an empty pot of coffee in front of me thinking about how my wife must have made the decision to begin drinking more coffee in the effort to start me drinking less…while also considering whether or not I really need to brew a second pot (the answer, of course, is yes).
You see…I love coffee. I remember one of the first times I had the beverage at a young age and thinking that if the stuff hadn’t been so damned hot, it would have been amazing. A few ice cubes rectified the issue (thanks Mom) and I was early on into my addiction. Fast forward a few years into high school and I had a roommate who drank the stuff…although he wouldn’t drink it without a shot of vanilla in the brew, which he assured me was required for a good cup. This was the moment I determined that I was a black coffee kind of guy (although a little cream doesn’t hurt every once in a while, when you’ve got a particularly nasty brew or if it has the heat of molten lava).
When I finally reached college, I had my own pot, a bean grinder, and a wealth of knowledge about what blends I liked and how I would tend to take the more fancy roasts and mix them with the cheaper ones (because, as I realized later…I don’t really care for the flavored roasts), and had many a long night studying for school (or more likely playing Mario Kart) as we attempted to determine how many grounds we could fit into the hopper to make the perfect super-brew without clogging the machine.
I believe it may have been somewhere around this point in which I actually became rather addicted to the substance. But, once again, the black stuff. I mean, every once in a while I’ll hit up the green lady for a grande caramel latte, but this is truthfully more for the sugar/caffeine combo than it is the flavor, as I’ll much more happily drink gallons of the pure stuff than I will the specialty beverages that are currently fattening up the world.
In fact, a year or so after I left college (the first time…), I found myself dealing with some severe insomnia. Now, parts of this were, no doubt, connected to the lack of a feeling of direction in my life, or some other such psychological nonsense, but there was also a very obvious connection to my favorite chemical…caffeine. I mean, it took me months to determine that one of the best things I could do to aid in curing my insomnia was to not drink a cup of coffee before heading off to bed…rocket science level thinking required there.
Right here marks the moment in which I was most addicted to the stuff (although addiction is a tough word to really get behind…there was no chemical/physical dependency, just a pure love of the stuff…and maybe a little chemical/physical dependency…). It was the darkest moment…the moment in which I decided to put myself on what I called a no-caffeine diet. I cut out all caffeine from my daily regimen, but did not ever use the phrase “I’m quitting coffee”, because I fully intended to get back to the stuff.
And it worked. I mean, rather easily, I gave up the stuff for months. No coffee, no caffeinated soda, I even stayed away from chocolates just to make sure my system was completely purged of the chemical. Some intense headaches occurred, but my dedication to the “diet” never wavered, and I found myself sleeping tons better than I had in remembered history (although it would be a number of years later before I’d finally truly rid myself of that damned insomnia (thanks kids!)).
And now, here I am…somewhere around a decade later…with an empty mug, and a disappointed mind…writing about the fact that I’m about to head downstairs to make a second pot, which, no doubt, my wife will mostly avoid and I’ll become overcaffeinated because I just can’t stop (not whining, just a comment)…
Perhaps things have come full circle…or… perhaps…I have kids…who hate sleep…and love mornings…
Yeah…second pot. It’s happening.
Have fun out there!