Saddness = Not Enough Coffee

I’m addicted to coffee. I’ve heard that admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery, and one lovely lady spent months lecturing me about the dangers of caffeine so I’m sure this will make her happy. She also swore that smoothies make for nice substitutions when the brain begins craving coffee, but that’s nonsense.

The thing is, though, if something as innocent and widely-available like coffee makes me feel good, tastes good and helps others (like coffee-bean growers), then how can it be so bad? And if the benefits outweigh the negative, then shouldn’t I just go with it and ignore the symptoms of an addition: cravings; headaches and irritability when detoxing; daydreams about lovely brown cups holding rich, aromatic liquid joy?

I’m afraid to analyze this question because I’m afraid it’ll lead to deeper introspection about other addictions in my life, like my addiction to speed and adrenaline (hurry, hurry, don’t slow down!); my need for me-time, at the expense of shutting out developing relationships; my craving to control situations around me and the terror I feel at letting go; and my flesh’s insistence that I think about me and my entitlements, plans and desires.

See, this is why I shouldn’t think about my dependence on coffee …