Black and Steaming

I should stop drinking so much coffee. It will give me stomach issues earlier in life then otherwise might occur. It makes me feel like a junkie who always worries about his next fix. Yet, I feel like its worth it, at least for now.

My morning ritual is something like this: I drag myself to the machine and somehow prepare it with the proper reagents to create its magical brew. I am so well versed in this procedure that I can do it BEFORE my first cup of coffee. After the torturous process of waiting for the machine to slowly drip the life-juice into existence, I pour it into a vessel worthy to contain it. Bringing it to my lips, I savor the aroma as it fills my being, and then take the first, tentative sip.

At that moment, it rushes through every vein in my body. My mind becomes an oracle. Thoughts rustle my brain cells like autumn leaves next to a rushing train. I write down these thoughts, so that I might retain at least an outline of their brilliance before they leave me as fast as they first came.

This process occurs every morning at for at least a hour before it leaves. I pay for this gift by getting crabby and passing out promptly at 2:00 in the afternoon. Perhaps it is a gift best enjoyed in moderation.