Just. One. More. Cup. This I promise myself every morning. But my inner monologue is sneaky. She was probably the catalyst for that whole fall-of-Adam-and-Eve incident.
“But you have that paper and that story due and those photos to take today,” she coos. “You need this.”
It wasn’t until I was sprawled on my couch one night with my heart beating frantically out of my chest from over consumption of caffeine, that I really considered the credibility of that voice whispering in my ear.
That night, while staring wide-eyed with my hand over my frenzied heart, I slowly recounted the number of caffeine-enhanced beverages I consumed earlier that day.
It went a little like this: “Let’s see. I had those three cups of coffee this morning. And then that soda at lunchtime. Oh, yeah, and that grande mocha from Starbucks. Not to mention the Red Bull I picked up for when I wrote my paper. GOOD GOD WOMAN.”
At this point, I made a (loose) vow that I would limit my caffeine intake. Easier said than done folks.
Journalists have different specialties, writing styles and opinions, but they are all bound in the ever-present need for caffeine. I am surrounded by my fellow coffee-addicted colleagues, and we walk in little huddles to the coffee shop every day.
Coffee is my answer for everything. I’m stressed? Coffee. I have a story due? Coffee. I’m going out tonight? Coffee. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a 12-step program for over-caffeinators.
Ack. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.