I was surprised by how easy it was to quit drinking coffee. Just trade the black joe for white tea; endure a week of headaches, lethargy, and mild confusion; and get thy buzz from life! For the past three months of caffeine abstinence, the odd temptation has struck, mostly induced by olfactory allure of certain coffee shops that I doggedly frequent despite being a treasonous tea drinker, but I’ve never really experienced a full-blown craving.
Until today. I woke up to my 6:30am alarm after my first deep night of sleep in over a week. I spent a good two minutes deducing which day of the week it was before last’s night Monday Night Football game jogged my internal calendar. On my way to the shower, I sustained 3 collisions with various architectural obtrusions, including a knee-to-toilet impact that caused involuntary whimpering and an instantaneous bruise. At breakfast, my white peony tea went down like flat tepid water. I somehow stumbled to the office, sat at my desk, and pounded on the keys in time to the pounding in my head.
I wanted a rancid punch in the mouth. I wanted the blood in my skull to run as slippery as mercury. I wanted my eyes to dance the crazed waltz of insomniacs. I wanted my heart to beat against my breast like a spunky knock on the door. I wanted coffee, black as midnight on a moonless night, rich as a piece of Belgium dark chocolate, and hot as Hell.
(I staved off the urge by eating several Sour Patch Kids. Honestly, the prospect of drinking coffee after having purged my body of all caffeine spooked me. I remember drinking coffee as a teenager with no caffeine immunity and totally spazzing out. Like, talking so fast I would bite my tongue and scream-singing television theme songs.)
