If you type "coffee" in the little box to the right labeled "Search This Blog," it will return nearly two dozen different posts I've written over the years about (or at least mentioning) my favorite beverage.
This is almost as many as you'll get if you search for any of my kids' names. And those kids, along with Terry, are ostensibly what this blog is all about.
The reason, of course, is that I love coffee.
I used to say I wasn't addicted, but now I know that to be untrue. I get antsy if I don't have my coffee. Not so much tired as just...antsy. I really want/love/enjoy/need that cup of joe.
Four cups a day, actually. That's how much I drink consistently. I know people who drink a lot more, and I know others who have maybe a cup a day and are horrified at the thought of four in 8-10 hours.
I also know those who never touch the stuff, which I very much respect.
I was a never-touch-the-stuff guy up until around 2011, when I hit my early 40s. As I've often mentioned, some switch flipped at that point and I went from never having coffee to having much, much coffee. That switch hasn't turned off since.
I like the smell, taste, and feel of a hot cup of coffee. I write pretty condescendingly about smokers in an upcoming post, but I understand that sort of attraction/addiction.
I make mine in a Keurig, which coffee snobs and the environmentally conscious alike treat with contempt. I have almost no standards when it comes to coffee, though, so I'll take the cheap K-cup product any time.
Breakfast for me is always, always, always the same: A cup of plain oats, a banana, and a cup of coffee.
I am a creature of habit.
And addiction.
But what a sweet, wonderful, half-and-half-infused addiction it is.
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