My Love Affair with Caffeine

I love caffeine. Anyone who knows me knows that this is a fact.  Caffeine has been there with me through the storm.  Through late night college cram sessions, through the mornings when I could barely drag my ass out of bed to go to work, through drunken nights when I needed to sober up enough to make that walk of shame, and through the hangovers the morning after, caffeine has been my rock.  It is the wind beneath my wings (that's what Bette Midler was singing about, you know. Caffeine).

Our relationship started way back in my childhood with chocolate, but we didn't really get serious until I was in high school.  Since then, caffeine has been my one and only, my stimulant of choice.  It is easily is on my short list of things that I'd probably never be able to give up, right behind breathing and flashing truckers on the interstate. Some things are just sacred, after all.

My preferred caffeine delivery method is coffee, preferably espresso. I'm pretty sure that I'm independently paying someone's salary over at Starbucks, potentially even putting a kid through college.  Still, there is absolutely nothing like a good latte.  It's like Prozac and  Xanax rolled into one miraculous liquid all without that pesky drug interaction. Plus it's cheaper. At least, that's what I tell myself when I'm digging through the couch cushions for looking for $5 to pay for what's basically half a cup of milk.

Recently, I have also discovered Red bull and Oh. . . My. . . God.  I bet this is the same feeling that warriors of bygone eras had when they realized how much more efficient and overall better shooting people was than stabbing people. I mean musket vs. sword?  The end of that fight is a foregone conclusion.  That's the way I look at Red Bull.   The taste is nothing like coffee (it weirdly tastes like a Flintstone chewable vitamin dissolved in corn syrup), but the caffeine rush magnificent; so magnificent that I've limited myself to one a week lest I find myself pimping a stable of hookers for Red Bull money.

What? Chicks can't be pimps, too.

Anyway, I suppose that, at this point, my love affair with caffeine is starting to sound much more like an addiction. Well, it's not. I can stop anytime I want.   I actually did quit for about a month last year.  Some people claimed that I was more irritable than usual, but that had  nothing to do with caffeine withdrawal. I'm actually just a bitch.  I was rather surprised no one noticed sooner.

But as much as I love it, I do occasionally try to curb my caffeine intake. Apparently, too much caffeine isn't good for you.  Of course, this finding varies from day to day and with the lastest "study".  Frankly, I'm tired of "studies" bashing my beloved caffeine. It's not like I'm freebasing meth. . . . yet.  And if it's keeping me sane (which it partially is) and keeping me nodding off while driving in the wee hours of the morning what's wrong with a few muscle tremors? As far as I know, muscle tremors never caused anyone to accidentally run over a hitchhiker then have to bury their body in some shallow grave  (all of which totally never happened).

Caffeine, I just can't quit you.