Something awful has happened recently, ladies and gentlemen. It’s… hard for me to talk about, but I think that we’ve gotten to that point. The fact of the matter is…
I’ve realized that I can’t drink coffee anymore.
I don’t know what it is. I’m not lactose intolerant. I have no problem with sugar. I’ve tried changing what I add or don’t add. And all I’m left with is the horrible, bald-faced truth–my body just does not like coffee.
You can imagine what a blow this has been. I mean, I’m a self-professed tea addict, of course. I’ve always preferred tea to coffee. I didn’t even like coffee for years and years–it was a taste I acquired with hard work, as well as adding enough milk and sugar to kill a small rhinoceros. It’s really hardly coffee any more at all. (And I usually get Chai Tea Lattes when I go to Starbucks.)
But that’s not the point!
The point is that my stomach is a horrible, terrible traitor. I’m not, like, deathly allergic to coffee or anything, so I suppose I can still have it if I’m desperate…. But caffeine has never been why I drank coffee. I don’t need it to start my day or wake up my brain. (Actually, caffeine makes me sleepy.)
I like it because of the image I associate with it. You know, kind of like why people used to smoke. (Which is dumb, I know.) It’s all about how I see coffee, and how I see myself. You always hear writerly people talk about how much they love their coffee–how they can’t do without that fix in the morning. People, beautiful people, quirky people, book people, are always described as drinking coffee. Coffee, horrid thing that it is, is part of the self-image I have dreamt up for myself.
Or it was, until my body decided to rebel. Now I feel like I’ve lost a bit of that me that I always strived for. The one that will someday be able to garden, cook and clean. That will wake up early and go for a run, then settle down, write for awhile, then go do errands. (When I imagine myself as the Perfect Self, I usually imagine Nora Roberts characters.)
Is this post silly? Yes, it really, really is. But I had to get that off my chest. I really am bummed that coffee hates me. But maybe this is a good thing. I won’t have to worry about coffee stains on my teeth, for example. So maybe I’ll adjust.
What about you?
Do you ever see yourself in a certain way, different from how you really are? Do you have a perfect vision of yourself? Or do you really love/hate coffee? Did you get a haircut? LEMME KNOW.
((Also, happy April! This is not an April Fools post. xD Although I suppose the lackadaisical subject matter is appropriate.))