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10 july 2000

i drink a lot of coffee

I drink a lot of coffee. A whole lot. Since I don't do drugs or smoke regularly, I figure that I am allowed one or two vices. My little caffiene addiction would be Vice Number One. Tea is worthless to me, and Diet Coke only bridges the afternoon and evening, when I can rush home and brew a fresh pot to slurp on until I go to bed that night. An hour after finishing my last cup, I sleep fine. If this is a problem, then I'm going to be one of those annoying addicts who refuses to acknowledge my addiction. Pass the sugar, please.

In addition to the dependence, I've also got the goods to satisfy it. Richly-flavored whole beans only, freshly ground before each pot, and cooled with fresh skim milk. And have I got a coffeemaker. It's got an alarm, an auto-brew function, and a thermolated stainless-steel pot that keeps your brew hot for hours. As coffeemakers go, it's a Ferrari.

Mornings are an ongoing problem for me, however. I get up early to work out, but must drink at least two cups before getting in the car. If I don't have my coffee, I spend the entire morning bumping into walls, misplacing my keys, putting my shirt on backwards, and hitting the wall again. If I do decide to drive Before Coffee (BC), I resemble one of those little old ladies who scrunches toward the wheel, hanging on for dear life, creeping along the highway at twenty-five miles an hour. Migrating butterflies have been known to pass my car. I rarely leave the house BC.

I've tried to stop, usually after overhearing some Journal of Medicine's report that coffee causes bad stuff to happen. Heart problems, brain problems, stomach disintigration, etc. So I freak out, go cold turkey, develop a headache with the endurance of a Nigerian marathon runner, and wander through my life like a Living Dead bit player. People have been known to ask me if I'm feeling okay / stoned / hungover during my periods of abstinence. When I tell them the truth, they either laugh at me (the majority of my so-called friends), or they look at me pitifully, as if they'll be over tomorrow to host an intervention. It wouldn't do any good. I'd just sleep through it.

A few months ago, however, my life really started to look up. I bought the book Eat Right For Your Type at the recommendations of a few friends who swear by it. In a nutshell, this D'Adamo character has spent thirty years researching how different nutritional plans affect people of varying blood types. I'm usually pretty skeptical about stuff like this, and diets in general. (Don't even talk to me about the high-protein Atkin cult. Who needs functional kidneys?) This plan rang a bell with me, though, because it recommended the things that I do anyway. I happen to be a type A positive, which means that I should generally follow a vegetarian diet, stay away from citrus foods (which make my stomach curdle anyway), and tweak a few of my other eating habits for optimal health. I have to be honest and say that it works for me. Having followed the Type A plan somewhat faithfully, I've never felt better in my life. It's probably just coincidence, but I'm not complaining.

Best of all, Dr. D'Adamo recommends that us tofu-happy, fruits-and-berries Type A's drink coffee, and plenty of it. You should have seen me when I got to the drink chapter. I must have swigged an entire pot in a half hour, run around in circles for awhile, and then slurped down some more brew "for my health". I felt great. I was not only alive, but wide awake and zippy again. Woo-hoo!

Not only that, but lately, I've been blowing those punk butterflies off the highway.