Coffee is a glorious and wonderful thing. I could thank the person who discovered it every day. It has the power to keep me alert, keep me awake at all hours of the day and night, without discrimination, without regard to my pre-existing condition, which is probably irreversibly sleep-deprived.
Note that I make a distinction here between coffee and caffeine. Caffeine can come in many forms. But the coffee goes down with pleasure, alongside the rich aroma. And I don’t mind added milk, be it cold or steamed. I know, I’m violating the idea of a real purist coffee drinker. Kill me. I add things.
Let’s resume. It has the power to keep me up at all hours, finishing things that I “need” to do, right now, right this minute. I whiz through texts and writing and analyzing. I find my flow.
Its duality amazes me. While it is able to give enjoyment and provide a certain utility, it is also able to give extraordinary anxiety. I feel my blood pumping, my brain churning, sweat on my palms, my face hot, the tremors start. All of these things, coffee is able to achieve all at once or separately.
Yet, it also has the power to make the morning inviting and the weekend welcoming, when I don’t have any obligations. It’s a source of enjoyment.
It’s something shared. Everyone is willing to sit with you for a cup of coffee. Unless they don’t like you, in which case, that’s a different issue. It can bring people together, and also push peoples apart.