olivefingers*

i’m sure everybody’s introduction to coffee went a bit differently, but here is the coffee continuum along which i became addicted:

• folgers instant – like everything good, it begins with that gateway through which we all enter. that thing which tells us, “this is home. you’ll like it here.” my dad had no idea that the tiny puddle of folgers instant he left in the bottom of his cup every morning would be that gateway for me. usually, my sister and i would use it to play “secretary” or “office”, because people smoked cigarettes (ok, his butts may have played a role, as well) and drank coffee in the office. there was something deliciously cold and grown up about the remnants of the folgers instant. i could probably drink it now.
• diner coffee – pretty much any diner cup, full of weak-assed brew and plenty of cream and sugar. that’s what i drank in high school with my theater friends. right before we sang “chapel of love” in three part harmony, or some shit, right there in the restaurant.
• crossword coffee – i had to take a “break” from my 4 year college and move home for a bit and, when i did that, i learned the art of coffee-and-crosswords. both weekend mornings, my mom and step-dad did the crossword and drank coffee at the dining room table. they drank decently strong coffee and used liberal amounts of coffeemate, to which i became addicted. no sugar, because the coffeemate felt like a liquid meal blended into the coffee. this is where i was irrevocably hooked. where drinking coffee became a behavior. a habit. something i looked toward like a hot date. you know, a hot date you could have in your pajama pants and unbrushed teeth.
• driving coffee – driving coffee (which sustained one while driving from albany to monmouth) was black and strong. end of story.
• grown-up coffee – after i left college and moved back to portland, coffee people was rising and, subsequently, falling. before the fall, i was able to fully realize the difference between passable and FUCKING GREAT coffee. even now, i don’t really give a rat’s ass how good a joint’s breakfast burrito is if their coffee is bad. (IMO, there is a difference between weak coffee and BAD coffee. i will take weak coffee with a decent flavor over strong coffee that tastes like it was brewed with a dirty dishrag.) bad coffee is a dealbreaker, yo.
• now coffee – i can – and do – drink coffee every way. seriously. the blackest espresso you can imagine. a macchiato. black drip. drip with cream. a dirty chai. my most common order is a large extra room americano. occasionally, coffeemate (seriously. i wish i knew how to quit you, coffeemate.) today, i tried a trick i learned from sunday that was really good (raw sugar in with the grounds), that probably has legs in my household.

the point is, it’s part of my life now. not to be melodramatic, but if i had to quit coffee somehow, i’d feel like i lost a child. (well, a lesser child. or a pet. probably a hamster or gerbil.)

i like the stuff ok.

technically, i’m a day late on my free write but fuck it. i like to write in the mornings and in the mornings i shall write.

grow something. i’m here to talk about growing something. honestly, at this point my attitude is really kind of GROW ANYTHING.

but here’s what i plan to grow: balls.

ok – not balls. dudes don’t get to claim all the courage and pluck in the world. but those things are what i need more of in my life. i’ve been looking up out of this gigantic, tire-sucking, muddy rut for way too long. i need to take some risks, get uncomfortable. challenge myself.

because here’s what rut-dwelling hath bestowed upon me:

• a messy and disorganized house
• a blasé attitude about my work (sorry, City)
• a brain that fights to think through a thick, gooey film of molasses
• a body that – just moving – feels like it’s trying to swim through a pool of…you guessed it…molasses

i didn’t just hatch this plan, didn’t just germinate this seed – i’ve been thinking about it for a few years. in fact, i think – i hope – i’ve taken a step or two toward *risk.

*small sidebar: my “risks” may not sound terribly dangerous to you. i get it, mr. gonzo extremo. but i’ll bet you don’t get kid and puppy snuggles on the reg, either, so shut up your face.

as i said, i’ve been thinking about this. i actually have a list and i’ve got the checkmark halfway finished on item number one. (i’m going to go out on a limb and presume that nobody needs details. i mean…what if “monthly brazilian waxes” were on my list? we’d all end up hating ourselves after i felt the need to describe THAT indignity.) (GOD, no, it’s not on my list, you guys.) item number two is in the works.

i do think changes are afoot. and for someone that used to thrive on change (sometimes to the point of change for the sake of change, which isn’t great), it definitely feels like spring.

(seriously, ending the ‘grow something’ free write with a spring metaphor? HAD TO BE DONE. cue twinkly chamber music outro.)