I’m tired. I’ll be honest, I’ve been staying up far too late this summer, mainly because–for the most part anyway–I can get away with it. Slower starts in the mornings are okay when you don’t have to rush the children to school. But I’m relying too much on my old friend and true love to get me through the mornings.

Coffee.

No matter how you drink it, if you’re addicted to it, you know what love is. I like mine with a packet of Splenda and a dab of plain Coffee Mate. Smooth, creamy and woodsy.

I recently had a friend tell me she no longer drank caffeine. She’s probably healthier than me, and I’m sure her teeth are whiter, but all I could think was…

No coffee?

A writer’s world revolves around coffee. I myself have no less than two cups in the morning and sometimes a cup in the afternoon. It’s a ritual steeped in superstition as much as need for caffeine. And unfortunately, my addiction is complete. I need my coffee. In fact, I was so moved by my need for the earthy tasting brown liquid, I wrote a little poem for it this morning.

And it goes like this:

I may need a cup of coffee this morn.
One cup should do it. Just one is all.
I may need more than one cup of coffee.
Up too late. It’s a writer’s life. One more.
I may need more than two cups of coffee today.
Not even noon and I’m dragging. Another please.
Three cups of coffee and I’m buzzing.
Tired and buzzing and not able to blink.
I think I need…where’s the bathroom?

Tune in tomorrow when I express my addiction to wine in song…or not.