I have a certain thing for coffee. Not hooked or anything. It just tends to keep me hooked, buzzed when I really need to. But there’s one severe side effect to any of caffeine sampling forays.
You know that weird moment when you’re tipsy and can’t stop smiling at God-knows-what? Or the way you drown anybody nearby on inebriated tales of worlds past and situations unknown? Does that happen to me alone? No, I can’t be the only one! Really? No-one does that? Y’all are a mean bunch of readers!
Ah well, coffee tends to have just about the same effect on this young man. I just can’t seem to stop myself talking when I’ve had one too few—of coffee 😉
Most people who bear the brunt of this spectacle have never complained. I don’t know why…they must be a tolerant bunch of listeners. I know I would shut myself up. I tend not to make half as much sense to myself when I speak as when I thought out that stuff in my shadowy, clueless head.
It’s expected though. At a time like this, the recipient of my ramblings tends to be my mum. Now who would expect her to shut me up? Hehe, my most faithful listener. If you want a dose of my most irate arguments, I bet she would be the best place to extract them. I reserve the paranoid ones for a certain crowd of fellas who I think are even more clueless than I am. Some thoughts even can’t be posted here; I fear for your sanity.
But truth be told that caffeine buzz has got me out of many a tight spot.
I’ll start with high school. Honestly, I HATED coffee prior to high school. But it’s common knowledge what those torment-cages do to us…it was inevitable. I remember all my afternoon papers were done in an almost semi-lucid/manic state. Blame it on a quarter-cup concoction of a teaspoon of instant coffee ‘dissolved’ in an undiluted measure of lemon-flavoured juice. You know, I hear people talk of sugar-rushes, and I just sit there, filing my nails, twiddling my non-existent hair, counting stars in the blue sky, wondering what these amateurs are talking about. So you can bet I was that guy fidgeting in my seat, gazing at birds making nests in the roof of the exam room, and the countless shuttlecocks we’d wedged in the overhead girders during a game or two of badminton. Ah well, the grades came in; what else can I say? But I, in no way advocate for this semi-suicidal, diabetes-inducing, pulse-racing method. It’s not for the weak.
Also, have you ever tried explaining the most ridiculous of situations to someone who truly expects you to know exactly what the absurdity is all about? How about trying to explain how the Star Wars company (Obi Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker et al) get succinctly juxtaposed into an established psychological development theory? I forget whether it was Carl Jung or Sigmund Freud…the things my mother makes me do. But believe me, if I made her understand, they might as well put me in the NASA astronaut programme already or stuff like that…don’t think I’ve ever been mentally ambushed like that. Psychology and counselling? Ze hell!
Ah well, I’m on a coffee sabbatical right now; it’s what I do regularly to ensure I don’t become dependent. And all this talk of caffeinated brilliance or the lack of it thereof is making me hazy. Better get going.
But as a parting shot, we all know (I assume) how residents of Paris love their coffee…and croissants (‘Oh no, he used the C word!’ Oh yes, I did! Like A Boss!) And we’re also too familiar with the Luhya affinity (for lack of a stronger word) for tea.
So would I be wrong to say that Luhya’s are just alienated Parisians trying to find their common caffeinated ancestry? Minus the taste for art, cuisine and stuff, that is. Oh wait, I forgot about bullfighting and ingokho; that counts.
Akh, who am I kidding with this sabbatical nonsense? *brews cup* What does sabbatical even mean? *takes sip*