Fuzzy words. I’m trying to comprehend the front-page article. Newspaper is crumpling in my hands. This is ridiculous, I can’t even hold a piece a paper. Grumbling at my co-passenger’s laptop bag that’s touching my knee. This is going to be a long day. Nothing can ease this agitation.
Every morning, I vow to survive a caffeine-free day without complaining and ten minutes later, I crumble to failure. Why didn’t I miss coffee as much as I do now, when I was on my detox? Why didn’t I crave its frothy goodness when I slurped Milo as a kid?
On days like these, I curse the person who introduced me to cappuccinos and made me realise how incomplete I feel when I can’t feel the warmth of the beverage between my fingers. I miss the piping hot sensation on my tongue. Its aroma that seeps through the plastic cup – oh my!
The day I moved to my new home in Sydney, the first thing on my to-do list was to find my local coffee shop, make best friends with the barista and make sure he learnt my complicated order by heart (it’s a nightmare of an order, no jokes). As the days flew by, the funds from my bank account flew along. Money vanished like it was playing a game of hide and seek with my account (secretly, I’m still hoping that’s the case). Even though I’ve mastered the concept of “budgeting”, it’s hard to not budget for a daily cup of coffee.
People say, “why don’t you make coffee at home?”. My answer to them is, “have you tasted shit? That’s what home coffee tastes like”. And it’s true. After convincing my wallet to not jump out the second I walked past a cafe, I resorted to drinking coffee at home. Fail. The after-effects were the same. It consisted of hyperventilation, warm ear lobes, shaky fingers, and all that. But the drink, in itself, bypassed every level of disgusting. It tasted like poo mixed with sugar in muddy, soy milk.
My next strategy was to make coffee at internship. That plan sounded perfect. They have a fancy coffee machine with even-more fancy coffee sachets. One possibly can’t go wrong with technology that requires minimum human effort. Just press a button.
Fail. Again. Except that this one tasted like poo in muddy water. Black coffee disaster.
It saddens me to see how stingy I’ve become. There were days when I bought others their compulsive morning drink. My fat wallet was bursting with loyalty cards from every coffee shop in town. Everyone knew my order.
My wallet is thin.
My head misses the coffee hit.
And my bank balance… let’s not go there.
I’m sure you’re sipping on your afternoon cup, as you’re reading this. Enjoy that while I go and refill my water bottle.