Coffee vs. Me

Today I realized that I got my ass kicked by a cup of coffee. And not just any coffee. Starbucks' Pumpkin Spice Frappe, small-sized (I still don't remember what they call their portions).

It started out innocently enough. I woke up late. I took too long in the shower. I got dressed slowly. I thought for sure I would be fifteen minutes later to work than normal.

But what do you know it, Mr. Friday was looking down on me and I found myself ahead of schedule while driving to work. So, being the typical, early twenties, late-night creature that seem to have broke into this world in the late 1980s, I went in search of the only substance that is acceptable at 7:15 am: coffee.

I eventually found a Starbucks and purchased my favorite (and really, only enjoyable drink) coffee/dessert/insulin beverage from the institution: a Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino.

Needless to say, it was so good I scraped the front of my car parking at a nearby Dunkin' Donuts for a last minute gift for Boss' Day AND parked crooked I was in such a hurry to get back to frozen heaven. And the coffee continued to be good for the hour and a half I managed to make it last. I would have licked the insides of the cup if I didn't sit right in front of my boss' door.

I didn't know at the time, however, but the minute the last of the coffee disappeared down my esophagus, the trouble began. You see, coffee has this bad habit of sticking around in my blood system, joyriding your brain into thinking that I've either ingested speed or am a bastard child of the Flash. And I fall for it every time.

Naturally, this state never announces when it's done. At noon, I found myself falling asleep over the keyboard. I stretched, sat up, sat on my foot, pumped up the music, eat more food, and went outside, all in the span of a few minutes in an attempt to stay awake. But it was no use. It was either drink more coffee or tough it out.

There's no getting around it. You drink the coffee and remember how good it tastes, and crave it when you don't have it. But when you do have it, you always run into that midday wall and then either have to suffer in a seemingly never-ending battle with your eyelids or you get more coffee. Only to hit another wall later on.

It's a vicious cycle that gets me every time, yet I still drink coffee. And it's still delicious. And I know I'll be returning to embrace coffee once more on Monday morning. I didn't know whether to feel like a true hero for going forward or like an addict. And as I walked out of the office today, still feeling like I was going to drop dead and die on the asphalt before walking the fifty feet to my car, I realized something:

Coffee always makes you its bitch.