A Pout of Coffee

an-eleventh-cup

I am titrating down… from caffeine. I am not necessarily proud to admit enjoying days of a dozen or more shots of espresso. Fatigue is a bear and I don’t like giving any of my life over to its lazy, invisible chains. That’s my primary defense.

Also, I love coffee. Just love it.

There have been three coffee pots on the counter until recently; one for my wife’s tea, one for my auto drip and one for my espresso. Now there are only two (I stored the espresso machine for safekeeping). Today I had my four cups by 10am — keep in mind, it is the coffee maker saying it is four, but to me it’s just two mugs’ worth — and at 2pm I was dying for another cuppa.

Instead of going downstairs to fetch one, I posited how much more sleep I’d get at night without the need to get out of bed every fifteen minutes for a bathroom break. Then I started blogging.

It’s quarter after three and I still want a cup of coffee. I won’t get one, but I won’t like not getting one.

/pout

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  1. Personal challenge has been restricting to 3 a day (Swankish style). Difficult when I could have 3 x flat white extra shot by noon. Good luck.

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