On Being An Addict

Just the smell of it drives my to drink, literally. I crave it now, and have to use willpower to stop myself from indulging. Once a day, I tell myself, that's all. But sometimes I cheat.

I'm a coffee addict. I started using October 23, 2009, when I tried coffee for the first time ever, while at an Ethiopian Restaurant for a class project. There, they spiked the coffee with agave nectar. Me, I'm not so fancy. Honey works just fine. But only honey. No sugar, no milk, no non-dairy creamer. I wish I could say I'm a purist, but in truth, coffee, without sweetener, tastes disgusting.

My Father, may he rest in peace, drank coffee all day long, straight. Man, he was one tough guy. Born in the Bronx, raised up during the Depression. His life experiences were far more bitter than coffee. Bet the black stuff tasted sweet to him. Mom, may she rest in peace, also drank coffee, but with sugar and cream. My brother Hal, he drinks the stuff too, straight, just like Dad.

Only my baby sister is clean. Doesn't touch the stuff. I worry about her. Hope she stays that way. I want her to be able to go through life driving right past a Starbucks without looking for a place to park. And me, well, maybe one day I'll kick this habit. Maybe one day, I'll be free.