I was at a point in my life where I was exhausted. On my way to work I would walk by and smell you. You smelled amazing. I was always curious about you, but I didn’t think you were my taste. But that smell either became more persuasive or I was just weak with fatigue. I finally decided I would give you a try. It started out innocently enough, a latte here and there, at first. But soon enough I was hooked. Soon I was frapping, capping, getting double and triple of you, and pouring ice over you when it was warm outside. I really couldn’t get enough. In the evening, before I would go to bed I would become excited at the thought of meeting up with you again in he morning. My standard latte eventually turned into an Americano, I didn’t need milk taking any of the glory away from you. I then began to buy some locally roasted beans that I would grind for the mornings. I would drink my home brew and then grab a quickie on my way to work. Life was good. You put the manic in my hypo. You made me want to conquer the world during the 20 minute rush that only you seemed to give me. I needed you. I was dependent. You knew how to get me to that perfect level of agitation and yet still make me supremely productive. Some type of black magic, maybe. However, in spite of how hooked and addicted I was, you were just not good for me. You gave me a 9 year stomach ache with raging, searing heartburn. To be honest, I blamed everything else when the doctor asked and I eliminated everything from my diet worth living for, except you.
Recently, I had to make the heart-wrenching decision to break up with you. It has been four weeks. The most devastating part of this story is how much better my stomach feels. I mean this is just awful news. How could you be the cause of such gastrointestinal upset, when you are so incredibly perfect in every single way. I cannot tell you how heartbroken I am that I have to live my life without you. I still smell you everywhere. I have found myself standing outside of the Starbucks I used to frequent, wondering if the baristas miss me? I leer from the outside looking in watching them stand in line to order. I watch them drink from those white cardboard cups with their names spelled incorrectly.
I have thought about not letting any of them have you and have half the urge to slap the cups out of their undeserving hands, but this is Portland. I would be exhausted. There is literally a coffee shop on every corner of every block, I can’t take on this kind of attitude, can I? No. I am not a vengeful person. Next time, I will just lick the glass when I linger too long watching every sip they take while I am on the outside looking in. I promise it won’t be an angry lap at the window, but more of a longing kind of lick with a hint of taunting. I hope you consider this fair.
I would tell you that I can’t sleep, but this is just not true. I am sleeping fine for the first time in 9 years. I would say I am a mess and can’t eat, but again no. I can finally eat without thinking that perhaps I mistakenly swallowed shards of glass and chased it with some sort of cleaning agent. However, I life without you doesn’t seem possible. You made me feel alive or maybe it was just awake, but isn’t that the same? Presently, I have replaced you with Chamomile. This is like going from ridding in a high-speed train to being pulled in a carriage by an deceased horse. I truly am trying to love the one I am with, but shit just got real boring. Oh sure, I do try to do new things with Chamomile to try to keep it exciting. I put it in a fancy mug and throw some honey and milk in it. I’m thinking about adding a donut into the mix occasionally, but I am afraid that the Chamomile will just be the third wheel. I have doubts that anything good will come from a menage a trios with my tea.
I haven’t completely given up on our future, though. I am hoping that great scientific minds will come up with a way that I can consume you in a way that will bypass my stomach all together. I have not heard of anyone snorting you or smoking you, but I haven’t done a thorough internet searched yet, to be completely honest. I have heard of the coffee colonic, but I fear that if I made this part of my normal morning routine it might interfere with my work schedule a bit. Perhaps, I will consider this for birthdays and holidays. Until then I will continue to walk into my kitchen and stare breathlessly at my empty coffee pot. I promise to remember the good times, and then weep silently into my cup of Chamomile, maybe the salt will spice it up a bit.