After Jude finally weaned and I could get back onto the highway of heart-stopping caffeine consumption I set out on a very serious and important mission: I was going to teach myself to like coffee, damnit, even if it tasted like the dried mud flakes from my dog's feet and baked in foil. I'm not sure why it was suddenly so important but when I make up my mind about things I'm all in so I rolled up my sleeves and got to work liking coffee. Shut up mouth, you do what I tell you.
Each morning I made myself a steaming cup and choked it down with a half gallon of creamer until finally one day I noticed it didn't taste so much like crap anymore. It was even kind of enjoyable and hey when did this happen?! The next day it was even better and the day after that I drove into work on pins and needles to continue our torrid love affair.
In the weeks that followed I carefully tapered down my sugar and creamer usage to a less embarrassing/impoverishing level, because trust me it was embarrassing. I'll never be the person ordering black coffee at Waffle House but I seem to have successfully indebted myself to a new and demanding vice. Congratulations on your addiction.
The most inexplicable side effect of coffee is that once you've been drawn into its magic love hug you can't seem to shut the fuck up about it. Everyone I know who genuflects before the heavenly beans seems equally driven to mention it no less than three times a day, even sometimes coinciding with complaints that everyone else is constantly talking about coffee. I often find myself scrolling through twitter thinking, "Crap, you guys sure talk about coffee, get a room – LOOK AT MY COFFEE FUCK YEAH, IMMA TWEET ABOUT IT."
If you're not part of the solution you're part of the problem.