The Coffee Monster Lurks In The Shadows

It's no secret that I wasn't raised LDS. My mom and my aunt introduced me to coffee for the first time when I was twelve. They came home from an outing and presented me with a mocha (part coffee, part hot chocolate) with all the aplomb that an LDS parent might present their child with, say, a surprise milkshake. But there was another element too. Another layer of the present. It was sort of a coming-of-age milestone ritual. Today I am allowed to drink coffee. I am twelve and I have reached that point in my growing up where I can have an adult beverage. It wasn't just a surprise gift, but an introduction to young womanhood.

Oh, I drank that mocha. I loved it. If I were Homer Simpson, my pupils would have dilated and all sorts of dendrites in my brain would have fired simultaneously with drooling as a potential side affect. It was. So. Good. Mochas and lattes became a special treat that I enjoyed throughout my teenage years, carefully nursing my drink so as to enjoy that wonderful flavor as long as possible. In high school I joined a coffee of the month club and enjoyed a hot cup after school. Despite the caffeine, the coffee was wonderfully relaxing and fortifying. I loved the rich, roasted flavor, offset by the slight sweetness of the sugar and milk. After a cup of coffee (or three) I could face that essay that I knew I'd be working on late into the night. I could memorize my lines and endure the thought of going back to school the next day. Like spinach to Popeye, coffee was a comfort and a strength.

I was eighteen when I decided to be LDS and gave up coffee with the intention of never drinking it again. And it was several years before the old addiction started to creep back, little by little. I think I was twenty-four when I succumbed to a grocery-store frapucchino. When I got into my upper-division coursework at SUU I used a lot of Red Bulls during finals week. I despised the flavor of Red Bull. A lady in one of my classes suggested that coffee would be healthier than the energy drink, and I found it plausible. As it turned out, a cup of Starbuck's drip coffee was also a couple bucks cheaper than the Red Bull. My student frugality worked with my old addiction. Soon I was going by Starbuck's a couple days a week, as long as I had some money. I wasn't at the point of buying my own coffee pot yet. That would be like embracing it fully.

Ok, so I struggle with ongoing urges to drink coffee. I tell myself it could be worse. I mean, it could have been heroin. Or meth. Or alcohol. On the list of substance addictions, coffee is really kind of laughable. But to a Mormon person, this is a rich mine of guilt. I didn't purge the desire to drink this unholy beverage. I returned to my sin like a dog to its vomit, so to speak.

This past week, while I've been struggling with strep throat, I've really been fighting off coffee cravings. I wanted that strength to keep going, keep enduring. I didn't give in. I still haven't, but when I woke up this morning and began reading and watching the reminders of 9/11 and returning to what I felt that day, I found that I wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with a steaming cup. It's so comforting to wrap my hands around the warm mug and feel the new energy singing through my veins.

Instead of drinking coffee, I worked out. I took a shower and put on a dress. Now it's too late in the day to really enjoy it, because I know I would never sleep (I'm not used to caffeine anymore.) Still...I want it. The coffee monster is there, and I'm starting to realize that it will always be there. I will always want coffee when I am sad and frightened and in need of encouragement. And what will I do when the cravings come again? I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.