A Girl Called Joe

Got up early this morning, as is my wont, and realized I was out of coffee beans and half and half. I actually didn’t panic. I figured I’d fetch my coffee at Fairway, where I was heading for my weekly shop. But somehow in my joy over fresh bagels and empty aisles (it was very early), I forgot. And then, after putting away my groceries, felt so inexplicably sad and sleepy and headachy that I climbed back into bed. I woke up six hours later totally discombobulated until I realized: WAIT! THAT WAS MY BRAIN ON NO COFFEE! Did I take this as a sign that I was a rabid drug addict? That I should, oh, address the proverbial monkey on my back? I did not. Instead, I wobbled down to Oslo Coffee Roasters, drank a four-shot Americano, and celebrated the return of my personality by making three billion lists and two new friends. All hail the power of legal drugs.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy