My Morning Coffee

just a quick monologue i wrote one morning while drinking my morning coffee :)

don't talk to me until i've had my morning coffee.

please.

the doctors say they don't know whats going on. they've never seen a case like mine before. all they know for certain, is that if you talk to me right now, i will die. please, don't talk to me before i've had my morning coffee.

they speculate that it won't be a quick death, nor a complicated one; each of my cells, individually, will simply absolve its connection with the others. this sounds painful, and it probably would be, but they assure me that my nerves will be the first to drop off, and that regardless there's no biological signal for them to pass which would properly describe the sensation of complete mental and physical dissociation.

don't. talk to me. before i've had my morning coffee.

as my neurons unravel and my skin fades to ash, my bones will melt into slurry and mix with my flesh. my sense of being will melt away. thinking about this inevitability fills me with a dread which is existentially unlike any other thought: at what point will i stop being myself? at what point will i stop being human? at what point will i stop being anything discernable beyond a mixture of pure entropy? these concepts keep me up at night, lying awake in my bed. i tell myself that it's pointless to think on them, as the experience would be over in minutes regardless - but i can't shake these endless cycles from my head, no matter how hard i try. in an ironic twist of fate, these sleepless nights are what necessitate my craving for coffee.

please. please don't talk to me before i've had my morning coffee.

who can even say which came first? the need for coffee, or the fear of it's affect? the craving for consciousness, or the fear of a lack thereof? This coffee gives me life, but the price i pay for this indulgence is a fear much greater - a fear of something entirely out of my control, which could unravel my existense at a moments notice. i sometimes fantasize that the neurons which provide me with the fear of the unravelling would be the first to deteriorate - and i would have a moment of bliss, before my mind no longer exists to contain the sensation. however, putting those thoughts into word now makes me question: is bliss what i crave? without fear of my soul unbundling, i have no craving for coffee - as the part of me which holds this craving is inherently and intrinsicly insepperable from the latter. isn't this a true confrontation with the sublime; an experience far exceeding the limits of my inconsequential existence or simple end? is that not the purpose of living - to find a way to exceed the boundaries of our consciousness, despite biological limits, through pure ingenuity and boundless imagination? without my morning coffee, would i even be me?

i don't crave bliss; i crave coffee.

without my morning coffee, i have no reason to live, and no reason to die.

i take a sip of my coffee.

ahh. thats better.

alright, now what's this problem?

Author's Note

i seriously have no idea what genre to categorize this as

Reviews

[Delmar Cooper]

Thank you for sharing. I agree. And, I could never be English -tea?. Insufficient.

[Ice QueenJen]

I can relate to this, cause your still half asleep until that first sip of coffee! I don't know either what category to put it under, maybe family saga? Either way it conveys the need for liquid to live, or a helper of sorts.