Back on the train/off the wagon
I just put the water on to boil for a french press of coffee. For months, now, I’ve existed pretty squarely in the world of green tea consumption in the morning. It’s quicker, for one thing. Also a lot less messy. (Somehow, whenever I make coffee, the entire counter likes to get into the act.) And mainly, it doesn’t have the crazy-making effects on my energy. None of the empty-noon-leadbelly or the nervous toe-tapping; I sleep better and I don’t start feeling like Grandma Death if I miss a morning.

All of which are completely worth it, of course, for the taste of cup number one, and the happy morning mania that follows.

I knew it was coming. This week, I’ve gone to the local coffeeshop and bought a cup here and there. Which in itself meant nothing. The real moment was this morning, when I flicked the switch on the coffee grinder. As the anonymous teenage drug addict in the (totally true!) memoir Go Ask Alice wrote, “I’m back! And I’m glad! I’m glad!!!”