Something was very wrong.
From the morning upper shot of coffee bought from the small bodegas that littered the Manhattan Midtown fashion-scape that made me hyper aware of my tittering fingers, to the post-lunch can or bottle of soda that I drank which provided me with precious seconds full of bug eyes (just enough time to dream of being elsewhere), and finally to the evening glass of wine meant more as a red satin bed to cushion the hard fall; I was a wreck.
You take caffeine for granted because everyone’s on it, but it’s still a mood alterer. I figured I’d feel like a 50 year old man by 6 o clock because I was getting older, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t the tiredness of a marathon and it was unbecoming of someone of the age of 28.
“This is the caffeine. This is chemical. I need to stop drinking it.”
Quitting things is my specialty. Giving up coffee was as easy as giving up cigarettes or blow for that matter, and it was similarly done on a whim.
What followed were 2 days of enormous crashing. I was like a boxer who was losing to a knockout champ. Several times my head almost hit my keyboard at work even as the CEO stood behind me talking to someone else. I’d felt that feeling before when I would miss a cup o’ joe on accident, but I reasoned that this was just a withdrawal stage and if I kept going then it would wear off and then…
(more…)