For years, I’ve heard comments like, “Megan you need your coffee,” or “Did you drink your coffee this morning?” and “I don’t wanna see the day when you don’t drink coffee,” from my friends. This is due to the fact that I’m hopelessly addicted to that sweet, dark breath of life in a cup called coffee.
But I’d always just roll my eyes when they’d make those comments and play it off, knowing wholeheartedly that they’re right about my addiction and fully indulging in the fact that coffee is my life.
However, I never realized the full magnitude of my addiction until this morning. That is, when I went full hulk over the thought of the possibility of no coffee today.
This is my story.
In my Parisian apartment, my wonderful family graciously provides me with a magnificent espresso machine. Espresso is obviously a big thing in France and I’ve become attached to these small, intense shots of life that I take daily. So, this morning I turn on the machine while getting ready and come back after a few minutes to stand by while the sweet, hot steam fills my cup with gloriousness.
As I’m putting my second espresso pack in the machine for my double shot, I realize something is terribly wrong. The pack gets lodged in the machine and becomes stuck. I then realize that two other previous espresso packs have become stuck as well and I begin to try to dislodge all of them to start the machine up.
As brief seconds pass into what seems like hours with my hand in the machine trying to fix my life motivator, I become irritated. My irritation turns into anger. My anger morphs into rage. And then I start spitting insults at this machine for taking what seemed like the one good thing in my life in those seconds and I begin to threaten the machine with insults of vicious, venomous hatred.
This is when I stop. And I realize the magnitude of this addiction. And what it can do to my life.
Coffee is my life and my life is coffee. I’ve known that for years now but only now do I realize that apparently I’d kill for its delicious, full bodied flavor of sunshine.
And that’s okay with me.
The Wandering Sunflower 