A Week Without Coffee Is Like A Year Without Rain

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This week I swore off coffee from Monday to Sunday. Which is pretty much the worst thing a human being can do I think. I require 10-12 hours of sleep and two cups of coffee in the morning just to crack the surface, and of course a cup or two in the afternoon to keep me going.

In hindsight, it’s probably a really good thing I went without coffee. 

Monday, day one. I went to work and clutched my tea and tried not to openly make faces at those around me with Dunkin Donuts in their hands. My resilience won me the prize of a headache starting at noon and ending sometime on Wednesday. I also had coffee ice cream cause I’m weak and that’s not really coffee right? Like I’m not fasting from general happiness, gracious.

Tuesday, day two. I am dead. I am no longer living because I am dead. Nothing could revive me from this place. I even tried paying attention to going to bed on time and nothing. How do people live like this? In the afternoon I worked at Starbucks, which is a brutal form of torture that I wouldn’t wish on anyone not drinking coffee. I had chai. It was the worst. I also for some reason gave up eating like a normal human being when I gave up coffee. I haven’t had a real meal in 2 and a half days. I can feel my body systems shutting down. I just know that coffee would fix me. 

Wednesday, day three. There is coffee everywhere, how did I never notice this before? All anyone ever talks about is coffee. The only way to fix this is eating cake for lunch. How many consecutive days can a person have a headache before I just go ahead and write my will? 

Thursday, day four. Wait, this doesn’t suck that much anymore. I can feel my dependency wavering. I miss it, but more like you miss how thin your legs were in high school and less like how a mother misses her child. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, only three more days of this madness. I might just make it. 

Until next time,



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