The Mornings

My regular coffee drinking mornings didn’t start until a shade before my 30th birthday. I know. Crazy. But the habit started when I lived on a ship for a few months and had to wake up to a windowless room every day. That’s a pretty tough ask for someone with Seasonal Depression.

Maybe my late-bloomentation made me love coffee more, or maybe I should just pity the 20-something that was busy opting for a cold morning Pepsi instead.

Maybe I should go back to the era where I could just drink a large glass of water to wake up (I had a much whiter smile back then). But it turns out that that person was miserable and tired. Now I’m not nearly as tired.

It’s hard to imagine my pre-javan period now because — though I think about food and drink a lot — the only thing I’m always excited for when I go to bed is the sweet, sweet comfort of that next morning drug deal with a cup named Joe.