Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Saying goodbye.

This is a story about loss. This is a story about saying goodbye to one of my best friends over the past years of my life. I have lost a hot, brown friend. In fact, the hottest brown friend I've ever had. This friend has been with me all the way, pulling me through the good times, the bad times, and the very early morning times. This friend has been there for me whenever I've needed, has been there for me literally everywhere I have gone. This friend is the most consistent, the most trustworthy, and without a doubt, the tastiest. This friend calms worries, soothes fears, and even invites others over to play by it's sheer existence. The loss of this friend comes at a great price to my attitude, and willingness to care about anything beyond a half-assed shrug of the shoulders. I have had to quit coffee.

It's horrible, I know, as I am living the nightmare. But due to issues with my stomach, I thought it would be a good idea to cut out some of the stronger irritants. It has worked amazingly, I cannot explain how much better I feel physically; spiritually however, I am dead. I wander the streets on my break from work lost, aimlessly wandering, nowhere to go. I wake up in the morning and am confused as to where to start my routine, normally fueled by that morning cup of the nectar-of-the-roasted-beans. When I decide to spend the afternoon with a friend, I am at a complete loss for anything to do. Sitting sipping coffee seems to pass time amongst friends better than almost anything. Especially in this short time I have in Colorado, I have had many invitations to go out for coffee, catch up with friends or family. I keep my secret, not wanting to disappoint. I guess I can just drink water, or a juice or something. . . so sad. There is a strong air of mourning.

Needless to say, this friend tortures me wherever I go. Coffee shops on every block, like fifteen of them. Vendors in the streets. The smell of the sweetness when a coworker brings in a cup to jazz them through the day. A constant reminder of ending the best relationship I've ever had. Taunting me to come back, try it again, you know, maybe it can work out this time now that we've had some time apart.

Is this forever? Hard to say. Considering how much better my stomach problems are without it, seems best to swear off the stuff forever. But then again, there's decaf. Will that irritate me as much? There's only one way to find out! I love coffee for the caffeine just as much, so decaf will satisfy the first half of the love of taste and aroma and tradition, but may come up short on the second half of sweating too much, talking mile a minute and laughing too loud. Decaf seems like the friend that comes over only half the times they say they will come over, leaving me waiting for nothing in the end. Constantly calling saying, "I'm on my way", then never showing. Maybe just too much of a tease in my fragile state.

Whatever happens, I will never forget all the good times coffee and I have had over the years. All the places we've shared together, all the friends brought together, all the slightly less painful early mornings(as if there's actually been any early mornings in my life). Coffee will always come to me in my dreams in all it's wonderful forms; french press, espresso, tinto(this one is for the Colombianos out there), soy lattes, iced. . .the list is endless. Goodbye my hot, brown love. 'Til we meet again in hell.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Life is funny.

Any opportunity to take a photo this hilarious is proof that no matter how crazy things can get, life is always so damn funny. And, yes, this is real. Thank you, hilarious Colombian shop dog, for making people laugh.