ode to coffee
i gulp down coffee like its the only thing that makes me happy anymore. and it is. the taste is despicable. utterly horrendous. but the jittery feeling i get, like a jazz accompaniment to my feet as they caress their way across the floor, makes me forget all the things i used to enjoy. momentarily.
i forget about the raw passion that used to energize every one of my days. the want that used to fill my belly. want fueled by revenge. on this person. on that person. on anyone who wanted to experience life and joy. i held the rock and they held the glass. and that was good for something. i pretended to be cynical. because of being let down all the time. because of being told my excitement made me less desirable to women. only detachment would hide the fact that i did not belong in a world avoiding extremes. i needed assistance. i wanted to get to cool. be cool. seem cool. fake cool. i needed a substance. st. cobain had one. i needed one.
i stumbled upon the thing after the second and a half time i took a girl to bed. her bed. it was miserable. like giving into to a side of me that could settle and be okay. she gave me a fix of something that i would come to crave the rest of my life. i crave it now.
but coffee allows me to forget about the substance that use to amplify the feeling of happiness. and would eventually synthesize the feeling of happiness. the substance that allowed my raw passion to slowly fade and gave way to cool detachment. that allowed me to be invincible. invincibility is being nothing. you can not effect nothing. for the longest time i was nothing. and it felt good.
and i gave that up. for now. and coffee is the only thing i have left. the only thing that my anhedonia leaves alone for ten minutes a day.
