Thursday, February 7, 2013
Extreme Drug Abuse
My boots hit the hard wood floor on the cold February morning. My hazel eyes find its shimmering black handle and explore the contours of its perfectly round shape: the Cuisinart coffee pot. Slowly, I approach it. My hand reaches out to touch it. I go to grab the bulbous container…but my hand shrinks back from the radiating heat. As Leontes from The Winter Tale would say, “Too hot! Too hot!” With a to-go cup quivering in one hand, I make a second attempt at the pot. This time, my hand clasps the handle. The muscles pulse in my arm as I lift it towards the cup. I feel nervous, but I cannot hesitate for a second. Sweat pores from my brow in furrowed concentration. Slowly, so slowly, the pot moves from the machine to the cup, like two lovers reuniting at long last. And finally, with much care, I tip my hand to release the steaming, beautiful liquid into the synthetic mug. I can feel the glee bubbling within me. But wait! I have not yet won the battle. I reach for the sugar in the cabinet above. As I begin to pull the sugar away from the wood, I feel a resistance. Honey has stuck the sugar to the cabinet! I take a step back from the counter and begin to stretch. This task could prove difficult. Then, with a running start, I lunge and snatch the sugar from the shelf. Victory is mine! I watch the beautiful waterfall of crystallized glucose cascade into my cup, each gem a star in the pool of caffeine. I meet my final challenge: the milk. Hand outstretched, I reach towards the nearby fridge. But out of nowhere comes a true villain—my little brother, in need of the drink for his morning cereal. He cackles manically as he snatches the skim milk, and my heart breaks in agony. Hours seem to pass before his bowl of Trix fills to the brim, and I waste no time making my move to the jug. In one swift move, I spin around to pour the milk into the to-go cup. I can hear crowds screaming in exuberance in the background. “We are the Champions” plays from the speakers of Heaven. I grab a spoon and swirl the concoction furiously. Finally, I go to bring the smooth taste of coffee to my lips. I smile in triumph.
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Many days, as I role out of the house half asleep, I have desired to pour myself a cup of coffee with the hope that it will keep me awake during first period. However, for four years, I have stood strong and avoided the caffeine addiction. Despite my determination throughout high school, I feel that I will cave to the exhaustion next year and become one of many coffee addicts. But for the next few months, I will do everything I can to stay awake as I covet your warm coffee.
ReplyDeleteI read your blog with my own heart egging you on to triumph. Each morning, I wake up and totter downstairs in seek of my own morning fix. If no coffee warms the pot, my morning becomes instantly soured as I drift through my routine in a dull fog. But if I get my coffee, I feel the caffeine break through the haze in my head as my eyes widen and my synapses begin to fire. With regard to Hannah's comment, however,I do feel that this addiction will have an impact on my future, for already my morning routine seems incomplete without coffee.
ReplyDeleteAlyssa, after reading your blog, I wanted to spring from my desk and rush to the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee. Your imagery and fanciful descriptions practically made me salivate with anticipation of a hot mug of joe. Yet...I do not even drink coffee. You prove that there exists little difference between persuasion and extremization.
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