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Coffee or Jet Fuel Required...

They say the first step is to admit the problem. Can somebody tell me who 'THEY' are? 'They' seem to have opinions on everything! Well, if ‘they’ have a problem with my drinking, step out of the shadows... tell me to my face. We can go from there.

I love my coffee. There, I admit it. If you dare bother me in the morning, before I've had my first few sips, it's not pretty. It is possible, this morning, I may have actually cried, a little. (Extenuating circumstances, get over it, the people in this house should know better.)

Is there anything else, I ask you, which immediately fills your body with warmth, followed by love, finally ending with a little burst of energy as a thank you? The aroma of freshly ground beans awakens your senses filling you with peace. Even the gurgling of a coffee pot sounds like happiness to me.... did I just go off on a tangent?

Where was I, my love of coffee…

The odd thing is, I have documented evidence from Shreditor (my darling editor), I write better when fully fueled. When I submitted the “Summer Secrets” manuscript she could tell, almost to the word, where the coffee-fueled frenzy of NaNoWriMo ended and my lazy assed casual writing began. For that matter, she could tell when I started guzzling the high-test stuff again during a second NaNoWriMo. It made her deliriously happy. (WTF!)

According to Shreditor, I write better drowning myself with endless coffee. Ipso-facto. Coffee is my muse. I think this is the only conclusion one can come to.

Don’t get the wrong impression. I don’t need one of those “complicated” orders at Starbucks; you know, the ones with 15 steps in it. (I always wonder how one orders their drinks this way the first time.) For a short time after college I lived on Staten Island while working on Wall Street. I commuted on the Staten Island Ferry. Now this coffee took an iron will to consume. You had to drink it fast or it would dissolve the paper cup it came in. The cups were small, 12 ounces, so I ordered 2 with my bagel.

There isn’t a single soul who has tasted Staten Island Ferry coffee and thinks Starbucks coffee is either strong or bitter. Just saying.

I am happiest in a roadside diner, with friends, yammering away over an endless cuppa poured by a waitress who has worked there for 30 years. She knows everyone by how they like their eggs. Now that is one good cup of coffee.

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