Each time I try to write this, I try to begin with a cozy, adorable anecdote… You wake up in a warm bed, fleece blanket wrapped around your shoulders, sheets kicked away throughout the night. Your hair is a mess, but only slightly, and you move further and further into your pillow—the nice memory foam one your mom picked out for Christmas that you’d never buy yourself—and you think you’ll close your eyes for just a few more minutes since you have nowhere to be.
That—the warm lovely moment in the early morning, where one which hopes to remain peaceful and pleasant—is when it hits you. It’s a hammer to the front of your skull, the first sharp blow, leaving dull, pounding throbs in its wake. It pulsates like a heartbeat, living behind your eyes, knocking and knocking as though it’s threatening to break down a door and burst out of your ears.
Okay, that’s when it hits me. It’s the same thing every morning, and on some days, it manages to draw me out of sleep the way my mom would when it snowed and school would be cancelled. There’s the promise of going back to sleep; something just has to be done first, and it needles at the back of my brain. I’m caffeine dependent.
(I’m also freezing just about all the time, but that feels less dramatic. That information is sort of vital, so for the sake of the dramatic tension here, it is a parenthetical.)
When I am awake and without an ounce of caffeine in my body, I become rather irritable. My head begins to pound, and I find myself needing more than anything to rise from the warmth of my bed, bundle up, and shuffle into the kitchen, newly socked feet dragging. Lorelai Gilmore makes excessive coffee drinking look cute and funny, but it’s kind of the worst. I’ll make that cup of coffee, pour in my dairy-free “cream”, and allow it to give me a stomachache once I’ve consumed it. Briefly warming my hands, it is a constant reminder that getting rid of my awful headache isn’t the only thing that this warm mug might be good for. The hot liquid washes over my taste buds, and the pain in my head slowly subsides. My chest feels warmer, and my head feels lighter. This is almost a daily occurrence.
One thing that frustrates me a bit more than I ever really thought could be possible is how little caffeine seems to affect my alertness. Very rarely do I feel the physical effects of a hot cup of coffee. It’s sort of psychosomatic. There isn’t any sort of physical catalyst, but in my mind, I feel better and more alert for my day having completed this aspect of my routine. If my headache is really bad and I don’t feel awake or alert, I’ll resort to an energy drink. I am aware that these are horrendous for your health, but I think I resolved with myself a while ago that once I’m out of college, I’ll never “have” to drink another Sugar Free Red Bull again.
I know. This whole thing is gross and shameful and whatever else might be popping into your head. Caffeine isn’t good for you.
The funny thing about it all is that this begins and ends with the fact that I love the taste of coffee. The truth of the matter is that the warmth of a hot cup of coffee—or even the nuttiness and non-physical warmth of an iced coffee (a theory which can be discussed in another article on another day)—and having that cup to hold in my hands is a valuable part of my routine that I don’t know how to give up. There is something about those few minutes of my day, even if a lot of the time they begin with the need to rid my body of a headache, where I find myself warmed by this ridiculous hot beverage that has created an obscenely rich global industry. It’s a comfort, and I’m not exactly proud of myself for it, but I’m willing to admit it for what it is.
One day, maybe, I’ll wean myself off of caffeine. Today, I’ll have a cup of coffee.
