I think I probably owe some apologies:
My mom, my dad, my two sisters, my dog, my car’s brake and acceleration systems, the person I flipped off on the freeway last week, the customer who received the blankest of stares over the weekend, my thankfully-still-in-tact cell phone that I might have thrown in frustration.
I’ve had some minor rage issues the past couple weeks due to withdrawls. No, not any heavy narcotics. Definitely not reality TV.
I gave up coffee.
It wasn’t exactly a NYR, although part of “not having a constant, stabbing stomach ache” also included “not feeling so bloated that I could be used as a life raft in case of an emergency water landing.” And that meant cutting down on my coffee intake. I will admit, it hurts my soul.
I love coffee. It has a personality, you know? Every flavor, every roast, every strength. Caf and decaf. Espresso and drip. And then there’s my own personality reflected in my drink. Someone could probably do a psychoanalysis of me based on my coffee order. (She usually adds a flavor, and never sugarfree. She must have experienced extreme bitterness in her life and is trying to cover up any additional bitter flavor that may recall those memories. Poor woman, she’s so fragile…) Coffee held a wonderful place in my life for several years, and now it is gone.
The good news is that I haven’t given up caffeine all together. I switched to green tea, which is delicious and warm and cozy. However, the box of green tea proudly boasts that if a cup of coffee has a caffeine measure of 100, green tea has a caffeine measure of 35…
Which is why I have become an angry, exhausted she-demon with the devil’s own headache.
Is it supposed to pound like that? All the time? Inside my eyeballs???
The caffeine in the tea is a major tease, as well. First thing in the morning, when I’ve had a cup or two, watched The Today Show, taken a shower, eaten some cereal, and put on warm socks, I feel wonderful. Prepared. Accomplished and ready to take on the world. I could meet President Obama. I could fly to Japan and do earthquake repairs. I could teach English in a classroom in Kenya. I could be the next Bachelorette!
Then 10:30 am rolls around, and there’s this prickling feeling at the base of my neck. By 10:45 am, I think that I’ve put poison eyeliner around my eyes. At 11 am, the kidnappers from Taken have placed a full ski mask over my head and used a shrink ray to suck it against my skin.
And where’s Liam Neeson when I need him? Sitting right there in the coffee pot, of course, because my parents drink drip coffee religiously. So lovely. So tempting. So full of the drug I didn’t even realize I was addicted to…
I have a long road to recovery. And so, I am sorry to my supervisors at work who sometimes have to repeat things two or three times for me to hear them. I am sorry to any family members who wanted to use the heating pad, because I have commandeered it for the next month. I am sorry to my toes, which have been stubbed repeatedly throughout the past several weeks in my blind stupor. And I am sorry to the cute male barista at Starbucks, whom I will rarely be seeing anymore.
Now if you will excuse me, it is almost 11 am, and I think I might be dying.