As I write this on my clunky monster of a lime green laptop, I sit in a cozy corner of Starbucks. My grande Americano has just run out. I’ve been sitting here for about an hour and a half taking steady sips to maintain my caffeine high. The ensuing dilemma: do I buy another coffee? Do I suffer another couple hours of homework and to-do lists caffeine-free? Do I breathe in the aroma of others’ lattes and frappes and lust after the liquid until the withdrawal symptoms kick in and I’m convulsing, head-pounding, all out tweaking…? Better yet: do I acknowledge my co-morbid physical dependence and psychological addiction to caffeine and finally seek the appropriate clinical help?
Sure, my caffeine dependence is self-diagnosed, but I’ve no doubt it’s valid. Coffee for breakfast, coffee after lunch, coffee when bored. This year, my roommate and I even have our own paraphernalia for ‘drug’ manufacture in our room: a Keurig. (If my RA is reading this, I’m screwed…)There’s nothing better than the scent and sound of a travel mug filling with Tully’s French roast. If that’s what it takes to get me up, out of bed, and off to class, then so be it, right? At least my drug of choice comes in a variety of roasts with accompanying flavored syrups.