One of my birthday presents to myself yesterday was to treat myself to my first cup--since September 2nd-- of real, caffeinated coffee (the other one was the new Herbie Hancock album, which, despite featuring "I Just Called to Say I Love You" on it, is quite good). The anticipation of said coffee was much better than the actual enjoyment of drinking this coffee, which considering my huge expectations thereof, isn't too much of a surprise. The coffee shop vibe, as always, brings joy to my heart, and a bunch of silly young do-gooders were handing out flowers to everyone in some strange random-acts-of-kindess officially sponsored tour thang, but was I infused with an overwhelming sense of well-being? Nope. Did I get a nice little buzz? Nuh-uh. My heart rate just went up noticeably. Hrmph.
The inevitable question is of course: have I fallen completely of the decaf wagon? I don't think so. But I am headed out to the coffee shop right this very minute to have another. Hey! It's my birthday, people.