Coffee

-- Adrienne Miller

The boy I had a crush on when I was seventeen years old drank black coffee and smoked Marlboro Reds. I thought he was coolest person in the whole world. And being the coolest person ever, I knew there was only one way that he would notice me. I had to be equally cool.

So I got myself a pack of smokes and started hanging out at the same cafe he did.I tried reading the same books he did and listening to the same music. I did everything I could think of to seem cool short of wearing a black beret. 

And with a little persistence, and a will stronger than Churchill’s, I won the day. Not only  did I get the cool boy, I was substantially cooler myself, thanks to my new accessories, coffee and cigarettes. 

Well, along with just about every other deeply-held opinion I had when I was seventeen, it turned out I was dead wrong. About the boy and the cigarettes, of course. Not about the coffee. Never about the coffee.

I have only one true addiction, and coffee is it. Tea is lovely. Espresso is seriously overrated. Soda isn’t my thing. There is but one caffeine delivery system for me, and it is a plain, good ol’ cup of coffee. Or two. Or three.

I can’t do anything until I’ve had my coffee, and it makes everything that I do better. I write better with a mug next to me. I’m more social. I am surprisingly less anxious in new places when I’m clutching a paper cup in my hands. Not to mention productive. No coffee, no go.

I love the stuff. I really do.

So if you’ll excuse me, it’s NaNoWriMo time, and if I don’t get another pot on here something quick, this thing just ain’t gonna get writ.