Sunday, 25 August 2013

Mine's a coffee.

As I stand waiting, less than patiently in the queue in Starbucks, on a rainy Monday morning, there's only one thing that is keeping me from a violent outburst. The sweet aroma of my favourite thing ever. Coffee. As the smell of freshly ground coffee beans drifts past me, I feel me lips curl up into a sort-of smile. My fuel for the day. My drug of choice. My poison. The pick-me-up I am forever craving. The addiction I am somewhat proud of, and of course, the thing that quickly, effortlessly transforms me from murderous bitch to normal, civil human being. A quick shot of caffeine flowing intravenously through my veins and I'm capable of anything. It's like I'm Jekyll and Hyde and with caffeine, rather than some weird concoction of narcotics and potions. I'm transformed into the better person, my better self. I feel myself itching for a fix, like an addict displaying first stage withdrawal symptoms. A pounding headache, a dry mouth and an overwhelming sense of need. I'm really no good without it.

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