There’s all sorts of great things associated with my recovery. Some (like getting my life back) are obvious. Others are less so. Among them: a renewed ability to drink vast amounts of coffee. That sounds silly, and it might well be–but allow me to explain. It’s not like I physically lost the ability to drink coffee; rather, coffee (and caffeine generally) wasn’t mixing well with my OCD medication, and at some point last year I decided I needed to cut coffee more-or-less completely out of my life. (Ditto alcohol, which I stopped drinking in July and which, with a few exceptions, I haven’t touched since.) In the fall I began experimenting with half-decaf; this bothered me on a fundamental level since the point of decaffeinated coffee continues to elude me, and besides which I’ve been a slave to black, dark-roast coffee for years (there’s actually a pretty funny story behind my conversion to black coffee). I supplanted coffee with tea, either green or chamomile, and resigned myself to a coffee-free existence. I hated having to do it. Plus, being part-Norwegian I’m genetically predisposed to coffee addiction, and stories of my great-grandfather’s coffee consumption are legend.
A few months ago I realized that maybe, under the right circumstances, I could start drinking it again. I liked that revelation; it seemed to indicate that things were getting back on track. And so I began experimenting with real coffee again–first one cup in the morning, and then, once that started feeling comfortable, I began allow myself an occasional second cup. I realize this sounds mundane, and it probably is–but when your life gets turned upside down, anything that helps it to stabilize is cause for celebration. For me, getting to drink one more cup of coffee is a genuine cause for celebration.
And so here I am, listening to Kathleen Edwards and drinking my second cup of coffee today. (Kathleen Edwards is perfect coffee-drinking music, by the way. Yes, there’s such a thing.) It’s good to have it back; it’s good to feel like I’m living again. Expect a similar entry when I re-acquaint myself with Fin du Monde.