Caffeine. Caffeine. Caffeine.

I am a caffeine addict.

I will freely admit it, I am not ashamed.

I'm also not a morning person, ask anyone who's ever had the misfortune of trying to converse with me first thing in the morning. My housemates tend to steer clear of me, it took them only several days to realise that I wasn't actually ignoring them at that time of the day; I just don't have the power of speech and my favoured communication is a non committal grunt. Which is why I have never been involved with anyone remotely chipper in the morning; I am sure it would end with their blood on my hands unless, of course, they soothed my morning antipathy with a steaming cup of freshly ground Sumatra.

I get the shakes. I get irritable. Bleary eyed. My tongue feels fuzzy and I get faint. I need to wrap my hands around that divinely frothy cappuccino, I need to feel that sharp espresso coursing through my veins. There is a profound joy in taking those first few sips, only then can I feel a desire of any sort to function. I read somewhere that in Saudi Arabia a woman can divorce her husband if he doesn't keep her supplied with coffee. I say "go girl!". I'd certainly react against any fool who came between me and my morning fix.

I think this may be the result of my canadianess, maybe like my fondness for crispy bacon and blueberry pancakes. Together.
I'm actually offended by tea, unless of course it's green. Or white. But none of that brown stuff. Doesn't do it for me at all. Dusty nasty tea leave shite. Nope. Give me that perfectly beautifully brown roasted coffee bean.

And am not sure where this is going at all.
I have a hangover.
I missed my run.

And I've not yet had my morning coffee.