Friday, November 20, 2015

Decaffeinated Work

A Tim Horton's 'Double Double'.
* I am in no way disrespecting or diminishing the events which recently happened in Paris. I've decided NOT to blog about it, because I have nothing interesting or insightful to add. Believe me, I'm as hurt and angry as everyone else, but I won't be commenting on it. *

I LOVE coffee. I could write thousands of words about my first taste of it, my favorite kinds, (Turkish and Ethiopian)  how it affects me, and how I order it in various coffee shops. But coffee has left me with a kind of homesickness.

At both jobs, my need for coffee is legendary. (How many have you had today, Donna?) The first thing I do, even before punching in, is turn on the coffee maker. Yes, you can still talk to me--I may not make a lot of sense yet, but I'm still reasonably human. I'm okay as long as I know I'm going to GET a *&%# coffee. No matter what time I have to get up, it's what gets me to work on time, knowing I get to drink coffee when I get there. I take my first sip...ahhhhh! And I can get on with my day.

Yesterday, my city finally got snow. In typical, unpredictable Alberta weather fashion, it was overly-expected. This year it's at least three weeks late.

I hit my snooze alarm three times before I got up, looked out the window, groaned loud enough to wake hibernating bears, and prepared for work.

Why don't I make coffee at home BEFORE work? Because if I did, there might be reasons not to go. This is where the homesickness kicked in.

I like my jobs. Each day I get a lot of exercise and satisfaction from all the things I cook and prep. I like a job well done, and I like my co-workers.

But yesterday, as I left my desk, my husband, kitties and warm home, I couldn't help but remember what I was doing this time last year.

I'd woken early, and made myself bacon, eggs, and coffee. I stayed in my flannel pajamas. I fed my cats, snuggling the hell out of them before I sat at my desk, smug with the knowledge that I didn't have to go outside and face the cold. I could sit still and create. Bliss.

I remember that first sip of coffee, felt the anticipation of the rush I knew would come. I opened the file to my novella, eager to begin my writing day.

I miss that feeling so much. I miss my old routine. Nowadays, I sit at my desk--after work--checking the clock, assuring that I don't write too late so that I won't be dusty-eyed tomorrow. Knowing I have to be up in six hours. Or less. Then knowing exactly why I need that coffee so much, because this happens so often.

So I can't have a coffee. I've actually reversed my life. How does one write without coffee? First World Problem, I know.

Here's a link to one of my first and favorite blog posts. I wrote this one as 'Thoeba', and it's about her first experience with coffee. :


  1. I love your sense of humor:

    groaned loud enough to wake hibernating bears
    I won't be dusty-eyed tomorrow

    SO tempted to steal them. Let's raise our mugs in a hopeful toast for a best-seller that allows you to write in your pajamas all day. Hear hear!

    1. Aw, thanks Kathy! Hear, hear! *clinks her mug.

  2. I'm sitting here in the forest miles and miles from any caffeine. Much to my dismay I went to perk my first pot and the cannister was empty. Someone us going to catch hell when they get up today! At least my day was salvaged by reading your blog and it brought a smile to my dusty brain. Thanks again for sharing a smile to start the day.

    1. Miles away from caffeine?! How did you survive? And thank you for your kind words <3