A great workout and 8 hours of sleep last night should have been the perfect set-up for Day 1 without my liquid crack. Should have been. Am currently on cup number seven of super-duper French Roast brewed in my office and I cannot wake up. It is is like I am running in slow motion, my thoughts and words are moving in slow motion, and I cannot seem to utter an articulate sentence. There is a space missing between the thing-y that transmits the brain words into spoken words. (See, the preceding sentence pretty much proves the point).
My co-workers are urging me on, suggesting that my espresso-addicted body needs a couple days to adjust. My hands are shaking. My brain is in open revolt, refusing to do any concrete work until it gets its fix. And all I want to do is go to sleep. Like for about 30 hours. The siren song is strong through the waves of fog, the slow-motion water--just one more quad-grande-skinny-upside-down-caramel macchiato, just to get the brain fired up. Maybe, Indy's dad is there getting an afternoon fix, and your shared addiction will lead to true love. As a Louis Armstrong/Ella Fitzgerald duet plays from one of the Starbucks compilations, the earthy, warm smell of fresh, hot coffee brewing, the soft whirl of the milk steamer, the sharp hiss of the liquid crack dropping into my cup....Mmmmm....
Alas, I have .75 in my checking account, which makes me about $5.00 short of a fix. So unless I am willing to become the first liquid crack whore in history, it looks like I will have hold fast to my NO-Starbucks vow. And make another pot of coffee.
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