I made a full pot of coffee this morning, turned around, and it was gone. Within less than an hour, Tamara and I had completely finished the bastard off. I made another, and I’m nearly done with that one, too. At some point I expect to be awake…
Here’s Honoré de Balzac’s take on coffee. I’ve highlighted the most truthful statement.
“Coffee glides into one’s stomach and sets all of one’s mental processes in motion. One’s ideas advance in column of route like battalions of the Grande Armée. Memories come up at the double, bearing the standards which will lead the troops into battle. The light cavalry deploys at the gallop. The artillery of logic thunders along with its supply wagons and shells. Brilliant notions join in the combat as sharpshooters. The characters don their costumes, the paper is covered with ink, the battle has started, and ends with an outpouring of black fluid like a real battlefield enveloped in swaths of black smoke from the expended gunpowder. Were it not for coffee one could not write, which is to say one could not live.”
Now go lift something heavy,