That little brown bean

5:58am... I'm addicted to coffee. I'm drinking some right now, out of a 2 cup Pyrex measuring cup... Don't ask. Don't shame me. Please. There's really no question about it. I mean, there are some days when I don't have it, but they are VERY rare, and usually involve me being sick. Now, it may not be a physical addiction, I'm fairly certain research shows that isn't possible. But, I am definitely mentally hooked. As I wake, I try to recall whether there is some left from yesterday, or if I have to make fresh. Sometimes the answer is both. On those days I microwave the half-cup remaining in the bottom of the Chemex beaker and drink it while I'm grinding the beans and hand-brewing the fresh pot for the day. There is a sick and twisted sense of ritual to it... Getting my fix.

I find it ironic sometimes, because my parents both drank coffee (and smoked cigarettes) incessantly. Therefore, I adhered to an unspoken vow to avoid both from a very young age. And now look at me. I've managed to avoid the cigarettes, for the most part. But the coffee has made me its slave. How did this happen? Well, there was this girl... I was 30, and she was 18. But she was bizarrely worldly in ways that I was not. At the time I smoked massive amounts of weed, drank alcohol occasionally and worked a dead-end job. Life was good. Between myself and my roommates, paying rent was easy and there was a decent amount of expendable income to go around. If I stayed up too late on the night before, then I'd just wake-and-bake and be off to work... No worries.

That all changed once we started dating. Suddenly my time was at a premium and my expendable income was... well... expended. She loved coffee and cigarettes. I fell into the trap, mostly just with the coffee though. Weed was tasty and green, but cigarettes were just nasty. We lived together for just over a year. As my affection for her waned, my addiction to coffee was growing more and more fierce. Then the strange thing she and I had was over. But, oh, the love for the coffee still remained.

I had liked the girl, for a little while, but I am in love with the bitter brown bean she introduced me to those many years ago. After all, I spend my time on many mornings grinding the locally roasted beans (Anderson's Coffee rocks!!!) and standing over the steaming bloom ensuring that the water is added delicately and consistently to the heady mix. I mean, if I just liked coffee, but loved convenience, then I'd have one of those terrible pod machines spit out a mug full of sludge for me in 20 seconds. That's not the kind of relationship we're talking about here. This is about love and patience and taking your time to enjoy the process.

Sometimes I want it raw and dark and bitter... sometimes sweet, creamy and easy fits the bill... but one thing is always important... CAFFEINE, I NEED THE DAMN CAFFEINE SO I CAN THINK CLEARLY, AND FUNCTION. You dirty, dirty bean... I love you... 6:41 am...