I like to think of my coffee addiction as rooted in sensory appreciation rather than caffeine-dependency, and in the 2-weeks leading up to my trip to New Brunswick, I’d discovered that this is a possibility despite my daily 2 cup consumption.
Running out of my regular java and determined to neither have more groceries flown in until February nor pay 4 times as much at the local Co Op, I dipped into my can of decaf (bought partly for entertaining decaf-drinking friends and partly for quenching late-night thirsts for this dark, succulent nectar). I found myself still relishing its robust, ambrosial flavour and rich, invigorating aroma, while barely feeling the draconian force that is caffeine withdrawal.
I think my zeal for coffee is also embedded in the very action of drinking it. To some, this may constitute addiction, but for me, it’s like a mark on time. Like a dog-ear reserving my place in a novel, a fresh cup of coffee in hand is a declaration of time devoted to relaxation and indulgence. The time I spend drinking coffee is my daily dose of hedonism.
Or at least it usually is. But as I’d written yesterday, when you do something for so long, it becomes just another ordinary part of your day – something you take for granted. Like brushing your teeth or going to work, it becomes just a collection of motions and, thus, loses its allure. Coffee drinking is no exception.
I commenced the morning in my usual, systematic fashion. I have it down to an art: I scoop 2 heaping tablespoons of grinds (and a little extra for good measure) into my French press while my oatmeal water boils; I put the kettle on to boil while my oatmeal cooks; and, while I ate my breakfast, my coffee steeps to perfection.
But this morning, because I’m still re-establishing normalcy after a lengthy holiday, I got tangled up in indecision about the cornucopia of things before me – a blank page on my blog, unanswered emails, a list I’d written during my spare period yesterday of things I needed to bring to school, unopened mail and an engrossing novel. As I vacillated between my options, I’d forgotten about my coffee for just a moment.
Not long enough to lose heat, but long enough that its rediscovery elicited in me a child-like excitement, my coffee sat unremembered. It was pleasantly surprising, like when you find one last M&M when you think you’ve eaten them all, or a 5$ bill in a pocket you thought was empty, adding a pinch of spice to my otherwise almost ritualistic breakfast.
Forgetting your coffee is my awesome of the day. However, note that this one comes with a caveat: an expiration. Forgetting your coffee is only awesome while your coffee’s still hot and you still have time to enjoy it. Otherwise, it’s an awesome squandered.