Alleged "Coffee"

I am very old.

Aged.
Decrepit.

So old I have to drink decaf coffee now. Decaf.

In my youth, caffeine had no effect on me whatsoever. I remember the days fondly. My relationship with coffee peaked when I was working at Starbucks. We were allowed to have as many drinks as we wanted during our breaks. In retrospect, I believe that this tactic on Starbucks' part is to obtain lifelong coffee-addicted slaves, much like crack whores. They provided us with as much of our drug as we wanted so long as we worked for them. This was the happy chapter of my life. I would drink as much as 6-8 cups of coffee per day. Once I was turned out into the streets, though, a sinister spiral took place as I tried to live my life apart from my pimp, a mere shell of who I once was.

I was soon forced to abandon my dignity, showing up unkempt in my pajamas at the nearest Starbucks drive-thru with blood shot, begging eyes looking up at the happily supplied Barista who greeted me. "Please. C-coffee." I would croak, holding out a trembling fistful of change.

In those days, caffeine didn't necessarily give me an energy boost, and it most certainly didn't keep me awake at night. I would lull myself to sleep with a warm, comforting double shot of espresso. I simply needed it to survive. Without it, I would have withdrawals, but the high had worn off long ago.

In the past year, a change has taken place which I can no longer ignore. I can't drink coffee past about 2 pm if I hope to get to sleep at a reasonable hour. One wouldn't think that once I realized this, it wouldn't be that difficult to simply adjust my habits accordingly. It is. I can't explain why, but I constantly make excuses to drink coffee after dinner, or while hanging out with friends in the late afternoon. My most common excuse is that it's a "special occasion." As though the effects of caffeine can be reasoned with. My definitions of "special occasion" is becoming terribly broad. A special occasion could mean that I have friends or family in town whom I am entertaining, and I feel that coffee would be a nice touch. It could mean that I'm in the mood to write if I can sit still and focus, which, for some reason, coffee helps me do. Or that I'm quite sad, and coffee would cheer me up. Or it could simply mean that I want to "appreciate" and "celebrate" coffee at 8 pm. My idea of what constitutes a "special occasion" is ever-expanding, and I've reached a point where I can expertly, almost without thinking, render any given moment of any day a special occasion. Then, I invariably lie awake until dawn, riddled with regret and self-loathing, wishing more than anything that the occasion hadn't been so danged special.

In response to this, Daniel has started buying me decaf coffee, or, as I like to call it, placebo coffee. I have never understood the point of decaf coffee. It's kind of like non-alcoholic beer. I have reached a point, though, where I am willing to brew decaf coffee just to satisfy my craving, helping myself maintain the illusion of fulfillment.

So Yes.

I am old.