As an author trying to squeeze in writing whenever I can, balancing everything going on around me is hard. I’m a wife, mother, I have farm animals and chores to keep up with, and of course, the cooking, cleaning, and laundry to do to keep my house in order.
Long ago, I came up with a solution—getting up at 4am. Luckily, I’m a morning person, so listening to my alarm clock was never a problem, but still even in my perkiness, with this new-found schedule came a serious coffee addiction. Not that I wasn’t already a coffee lover, but when you’re up from 4am to 9pm with a full plate of responsibilities, my one cup a day suddenly became three at the least.
Of course, I never complained about the change in the number of cups. As I’ve said I’ve loved coffee for . . . well more years than I care to admit—a relationship that has withstood the test of time, and a staple in my life.
Whenever I thought of those first sips of a freshly brewed cup, I always think of a scene in the cartoon movie, Open Season. One of the main characters finds a cup of coffee in a dumpster. He takes a sip. “Yuck . . . mmm.” Takes another sip. “Yuck . . . mmm.” Takes a third sip. “Yuck! Oh my goodness, it’s terrible and wonderful at the same time! It’s like freedom in a cup!”
It is freedom in a cup and I was it’s biggest addict.
Over the last several years, I’ve had to quit coffee periodically due to ulcers. Even with medication, they would return and make me miserable. I swear, my poor stomach looks like a bomb crater war zone with all the scars. It’s awful.
I was told that once they were healed, however, I could slowly start drinking coffee again. And I would. I’d start off with just one cup and relish in the taste and pleasure.
My happiness was always short lived as months later, I’d go through another round of flare-ups and have to quit. At first the back and forth whiplash of enjoying then missing my morning cup of joe was worth it. It was worth the two weeks of misery from the withdrawals—the headaches, the muscle pain, the anxiety, the dizziness, the irritability, and the depressed feelings.
About three months ago, after another couple of days of painful flare-ups, I quit coffee again. And this time, I’m not going back. I’ve switched to black tea, and I’m rather enjoying it. I never thought of myself as a tea person, but I guess stuff that like happens. You think you will never like something until you are forced into accepting it. Then it becomes your norm and you wonder why you struggled for so long.
So good-bye my dear coffee. It was fun . . . well, until you started giving me problems . . . we had a lot of fun, but it’s time to walk away.