Current Mood: contemplative
The Problem: drinking coffee at any time past 8 at night does wonders to my sleep patterns
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I don’t know when I became a coffee person. I suppose it began when I was 11, 12 years old: my mother essentially forbade me from touching the coffee, claiming that it was a “grown up drink” and, I guess being the pre-teen rebel that I was, I took that as permission to try the beverage. Behind my mother’s back, of course! She never knew. I even went as far as to wash the cup I used so that she was none the wiser.
My very first cup of coffee was black with a boatload of white sugar. At that stage, I liked drinking coffee — only sporadically, of course, I was still a kid — because of the sweetness of sugar because by ‘boatload’, I really do mean boatload. But then at around 14, 15 I discovered coffee shop frappuccinos and how they were essentially just grown up milkshakes. By the time I was 16, I graduated to the hot stuff… I’ve sifted through cappuccinos, mocha coffees, and cafe lattes.
You may ask why I’m telling you guys my history with coffee. Well, it’s basically because I’m at this stage where all I can think about it having a cup of coffee to make my day. Not that it’s a bad thing, but I really do not want to get addicted to caffeine. My mother went through a stage where her hands physically shook whenever she needed another cup. Frankly, it was terrifying. Now she’s a tea-drinker and the last time she visited me, she left a box of PG Tips in my kitchen.
GPOY of me trying to tea
The relationship I have with tea is tremulous at best, given that every time I try the beverage it always tasted off to me. Like it’s not made properly, or that it was slightly incomplete. Have I left the bag to stew in for too long? Have I not added enough milk? Did I put too many sugars? To hell if I know. To use an Internet slang speak: I do not know how to tea. Continue reading
The Mind Palace 