It’s difficult to know which came first, the disease or cure.
Whole parts of my life have been anesthetized with coffee and in the same time losing chunks of my life. Patience, appetite, ingenuity – anything that requires energy reserves to be developed or denied – were disabled and I had never realized… until now.
I blame the clandestinity of this metamorphosis in the coffee, which had begun to fill all my neurological gaps caused by a desk full of espresso machines. Here was my irreverent personality, which kept me from seeing what I was missing. Here, too, was a space – or emptiness – of life caused by my illness in which the deepest and most questionable habits were forming. My strength sometimes going up or down and like a theatrical script, eventually my change self would refer to the thought: “I would like a cup of …”
And so, following the tide of caffeine who is dimming the underlying erosion of TSH, T3 and cortisol. The banks of life, my adrenal system and the hormonal infrastructure, were declining. Four years in the limits of self-medication cause the weakness that was intense and suddenly, even sleeping at night needed only 3 hours to end. The awakening was not much different to a Lilliputian meeting in which one wonders how Gulliver – from the work of Jonathan Swift – came to sink. The work makes the life be barely. It was like carrying bags of sand in a day more faster than a sip of wine.
As with all health problems that ruled my life, the medical remedy is reduced to a routine cure. One cycle of rehabilitation. Only coffee, the great coffee cup who was defined as the source of the problem became a part of the solution and it also lost its mystique. It was time to fertilize my ideas, leading to infer that it was a slim topsoil necessary for the basic life. Unfortunately, the exquisite origin of a myriad of variants of coffee are reduced to their mechanical function: connect neurons. Unfortunate because the joy was gone.
My physical depletion could perhaps be the reason why this space – this void – has been so quiet. In a world where the consumption plays a very individualistic part, volatile food aren’t here whenever possible that the own expectations be placed over the identity derived from them. Deprived to its essence, coffee becomes a reinforcement of neurons required to establish the tiniest transitions of life. To me this is disappointing but only constructively.
As part of my last personal resolution, I would give to me the freedom to enjoy the more simple things one can have in earthly form. Ignoring the collective vortex, only with a steaming mug of black coffee with perhaps a touch of Muscat. Following this, I could not stop thinking that a cup of coffee with muscat, without a proper amount of effort, is just my latest attempt to capture the algorithms of coffee in my head or in a very different way “put the brain in some coffee”. Maybe, just maybe, I need more sophisticated methods to control agitation (or impulse) and of course, with visual accompaniment very opulent and very far from the surgical demands of a espresso machine. And when finished, I’ll have coffee in a hot glass globe with my muscat and begin to notice that my head, his muscles and life itself are being rescued.