Wednesday, July 21, 2010

For the love of coffee

What does an addiction start out as? I wonder. I mean, do we just play with an idea or engage in an activity a few times to spark a slight obsession? Because I was confused as to why my thoughts kept on wandering to coffee.

It started innocently enough: the occasional cup here and there. I was a college student for most of my life you know. I was bound to be exposed to coffee at some point during that endeavor.

I can't recall my first taste of iced coffee. But whenever it was...well, it seems like a dark, faded memory now. The barb of iced coffee has sunk into my psyche and I have become....addicted.

So, I was pondering this the other day as my craving was getting, well, let's say: "especially noticeable." And I have determined that coffee (specifically iced coffee from starbucks: double cream, one sugar, and a splash of vanilla) has become more than just a simple addiction to it's caffeinated powers. While enticing, there remains a larger meaning.

Simply put: coffee releases happy memories in my mind. The mere smell is enough. I am transported back to college classrooms full of bustling minds and early mornings with crisp newspapers and fall days with cool air and orange pumpkins and special corners in coffee stores where I could sit for hours in a nook of earth tone paint.

I am reminded of relatives and their small houses that I would visit in the small town where I used to live. I think of favorite mugs and the simple comfort that comes from something warm in one's hand. I think of late nights...writing that endless paper. Coffee was sustenance. And now it is memory and something simple and aesthetically pleasing.

And so my pondering mind came to the conclusion that the senses of taste and smell can really invoke a memory...or a flood of memories in coffee's case. And how wonderful that something so simple can bring such a tickle of happiness that makes us stop and appreciate the intricacy of human life.

So, by all means, go drink some coffee.

Monday, July 12, 2010


Well I suppose it is no secret. I am sure the word has gotten out. Everyone must know by now. I have come to admit it. I have indeed hit a dry patch. Months of having little to no desire to write about minor details. I conclude that I have had nothing that sparked my interest enough that I would want to write it down, discuss, or think over it. Simple as that.

So, what? I think I can come back to the written world and just plop out some thoughts after months of ignoring anything remotely related to blogging? Not exactly. See, I don't feel fully recovered from this patch of "nothing to write". And while I have had writer's block many times in my life, this has felt way more personal.

It's as if my inner writer has been on strike and pouting for months now. The inner critic has sliced into my thoughts and I have been too generous in giving up on ideas. Where once I jumped at the chance to write about nothing. I now see my "nothings" as really nothing. Peculiar. Odd. Not enjoyable. I am unsure what the cure for this type of written turmoil is.....besides just writing regardless.
And so I did.
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