ahream

I don’t smoke. I rarely drink. No drugs. No pills. I don’t remember the last time I took an aspirin, not even after my epic 32-mile run through the desert. But, oh, how I am beholden to the caffeine mistress. Ten years we have danced this high-octane, tweaky-nerve tango, caffeine and I. And like all addicts, the dosage creeps up. We are now at a case of diet soda a week, at least. That doesn’t include the coffee, the tea, the restaurant cokes, the chocolate. Oh, the chocolate.

I have known for sometime that this could not go on. Like all tumultuous relationships, this one had to end. But Lord, I didn’t want it to. I loved it. I needed it. And then there were those times where unforeseen circumstances would separate us. Headaches. A general uneasiness. Symptoms only cured by returning to the sweet embrace, the caffeinated teat of the diet soda bottle.

It was the first thing I did in the morning. The last thing I did at night. I sucked it down while I wrote, after I worked out, while driving in my car. There was never a moment from the time I woke up until the time I went to bed when there wasn’t an open can of soda, a cup of coffee, a glass of tea at my elbow.

I was, if nothing else, very well hydrated. And my nervous system is shot.

So here we go. Detox.

I don’t intend to go cold turkey. And while we can no longer be lovers, caffeine and I, I hope we can still be friends. A restaurant soda now and again, perhaps. A cup of coffee over brunch with friends on occasion. But this case after case of soda must stop. It must stop today.

I am one hour past my last can and, oddly, experiencing all the same symptoms non-caffeine drinkers claim after a double espresso. I am nervous and shaky and absolutely, completely wired. And since I haven’t gotten a buzz off a Starbucks in a decade – another addiction symptom – I’m taking full advantage. I plan to clean my entire house from top to bottom…or at least until the inevitable crash.

Hilarious details of my rehab are sure to follow.

(Okay, I just typed that sentence about crashing ten seconds ago. Is it possible I crashed in ten seconds? I feel crashy. This could be a crash. Oh hell…)

ahream Dispatches from the City of Angels I'm a mystery writer living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my short story, "Running Venice," in the new anthology LAndmarked for Murder. Look for it in bookstores and on Amazon.com now. In the meantime, feel free to poke around. Over at my website you can find even more blog entries than I could fit here, as well as a few other ramblings. Enjoy and come back often.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (3) Most Recent Twitters: Reading Tony Broadbent's book, The Smoke. It's too good. I'm losing sleep. Nocturnal pattern shot to hell. Productivity declining. L.A. Finds: The Denver omelet at Pat's in Topanga is sublime in its simplicity. Exactly what you need and nothing else, much like the restaurant itself snuggled smack in the middle of an old hippie community where the peace signs and tie-dye still reign. Flickr Updates: The second Thursday of every month is the Downtown Art Walk. The galleries stay open late, the restaurants are packed, bands perform on the streets. God, I love L.A. What I'm Reading: The Smoke by Tony Broadbent What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami Want E-Mail Updates? Click here, type your e-mail address into the first field (for public entries) and receive an e-mail note each time a new blog post goes up. (Photo updates, Twitters and "L.A. Finds" features not included. Those you have to swing by and check yourself.) Absolutely, positively no spam. Promise. Other author blogs: Sue Ann Jaffarian Eric Stone Christa Faust Lipstick Chronicles		2008-02-11 10:49 AM Caffeinators Anonymous I don’t smoke. I rarely drink. No drugs. No pills. I don’t remember the last time I took an aspirin, not even after my epic 32-mile run through the desert. But, oh, how I am beholden to the caffeine mistress. Ten years we have danced this high-octane, tweaky-nerve tango, caffeine and I. And like all addicts, the dosage creeps up. We are now at a case of diet soda a week, at least. That doesn’t include the coffee, the tea, the restaurant cokes, the chocolate. Oh, the chocolate. I have known for sometime that this could not go on. Like all tumultuous relationships, this one had to end. But Lord, I didn’t want it to. I loved it. I needed it. And then there were those times where unforeseen circumstances would separate us. Headaches. A general uneasiness. Symptoms only cured by returning to the sweet embrace, the caffeinated teat of the diet soda bottle. It was the first thing I did in the morning. The last thing I did at night. I sucked it down while I wrote, after I worked out, while driving in my car. There was never a moment from the time I woke up until the time I went to bed when there wasn’t an open can of soda, a cup of coffee, a glass of tea at my elbow. I was, if nothing else, very well hydrated. And my nervous system is shot. So here we go. Detox. I don’t intend to go cold turkey. And while we can no longer be lovers, caffeine and I, I hope we can still be friends. A restaurant soda now and again, perhaps. A cup of coffee over brunch with friends on occasion. But this case after case of soda must stop. It must stop today. I am one hour past my last can and, oddly, experiencing all the same symptoms non-caffeine drinkers claim after a double espresso. I am nervous and shaky and absolutely, completely wired. And since I haven’t gotten a buzz off a Starbucks in a decade – another addiction symptom – I’m taking full advantage. I plan to clean my entire house from top to bottom…or at least until the inevitable crash. Hilarious details of my rehab are sure to follow. (Okay, I just typed that sentence about crashing ten seconds ago. Is it possible I crashed in ten seconds? I feel crashy. This could be a crash. Oh hell…) Read/Post Comments (3) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top