Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Too Much Coffee Man in Hell
Today my doctor told me I have to quit drinking coffee. That's like telling Popeye he has to quit eating spinach! Or making a tiger go vegetarian, perhaps. My regular doctor is out on maternity leave for the next few months. Her replacement spent all of five minutes with me before telling me my life needs to change. Apparently my blood pressure is too high and my entire cardiovascular system is about to explode like a water baloon, spraying the walls with a red mist, or something like that.
So she told me to exercise, lower the sodium in my diet, and [gasp] eliminate caffeine. Eliminate. Caffeine.
So I looked her in the eye and said, "I can't even tell you with a straight face that I'm going to do that.
"Soft drinks, or are you a coffee man?" she asked.
"Coffee." Of course. So she suggested my first cup be regular coffee, and after that . . . I can't even say it. I can't even type the "d-word".
Coffee is the nectar of my life. Coffee is passion and joy. Coffee is consciousness, it is courage and strength, it is the scourge of migraines and the bringer of clarity and wit. I am a machine for transforming caffeine into productive work, or at least into semi-intelligible political ranting. The coffee is the life. It consumes me as it makes me whole. Coffee makes me burn brightly. It enables me to speak. It draws me out of my shell and sends me gibbering incomprenesibly down the street. I love coffee. Black in the morning, weighed down by cream and sugar in the afternoon, steamed in a tiny porcelain cup after dinner, iced in a plastic cup from Dunkin' Donuts. Desire for coffee gets me out of bed in the morning and reminds me to leave the office and eat something for lunch. The coffee is the life. My master, my cause, my inspiration, my sustenance. my reason for being. Glorious, glorious coffee.
The luckiest woman in the world. Because her doctor lets her drink coffee. Bathe in it, in fact.
But what else can I do? I can join a gym. God dammit, I can sign up for Bally's or something, like the women of the house have done. I'll cut out junk food, I swear. I'll bring a sandwich and an apple to work every day in a dorky-looking lunch bag. I'll never eat at Mr. Taco again, even though the staff there pretend like they like me and mix the milk and sugar into my afternoon cup of *sob* I'll do anything I swear just don't take away my java and make me drink d... de ... aw hell I can't even say it.