Originally published by the Clifton Courier January 8, 2020

I’ve become a recreational coffee drinker.

I’m pretty concerned, because this isn’t who I am at all.

A staunch tea drinker, I would often opt for a brewed chai or a pot of English breakfast if I went out for brunch. The bean juice just wasn’t something I would go for.

But I just* came back from a spontaneous breakfast at the cafe that recently opened around the corner from my house and I ordered a latte.

* This “just” implies this was a recent breakfast outing, but it actually occurred some time last year. 

I’m now officially a latte-sipping, city-dwelling (well, I’m living 10 kilometres from the city centre) leftie (I’m left-handed).

How did it come to this?

I used to only drink coffee when I was driving home late at night during my uni years, when I’d to and fro between Brisbane and Clifton at ungodly hours. I didn’t want to become a regular coffee drinker in case I dulled myself to its effects, so I decided to only drink it when necessary. This was no real sacrifice, because I didn’t really enjoy the taste all that much.

I mean, I love a good espresso martini, but the price of cocktails these days means it’s a rare treat. And I also enjoy a cheeky tiramisu every now and then, but there aren’t many times when that particular dessert crops up.

I loved how my coffee policy meant I never regretted how much money I spent on takeaway caffeinated beverages and I didn’t have to have a reusable coffee cup on the go.

Unlike all the other adult drones I know, coffee didn’t have a hold on me. And I was extremely smug about that.

I felt in control. I felt free.

So how did I get here?

Well, it started a few weeks back, when I was driving home from a weekend away and found myself feeling extremely weary at the wheel.

I didn’t want to stop for a sleep. It was midday, so I’d definitely be sleeping in a hot box if I pulled over for a kip in the car. Plus, it was only an hour’s drive; so stopping for a nap was probably a bit much. So I pulled into a servo and got myself a coffee to perk me up enough to make it home.

A weekend not long after that I found myself yawning on the drive home the day after a Mount Tyson Tupperware party that went long past the mini caramel tarts. Again, I opted for a coffee over a nap.

Then the last time I drove back down the range after a Darling Downs visit, I had a coffee in the cup holder before I even began my descent.

Fast forward to today, when my housemates invited me along to a casual breakfast at the café around the corner.

I had enjoyed a surprisingly restful sleep the night before. My journey home was a two-minute walk. I had no plans to go anywhere else.

And I ordered a latte.

Even more worrying was that I drank it slowly, enjoying each sip. Of the three of us, I was the last one to finish.

Now I’m worried.

I don’t know if that’s because I have a tendency to overthink things or if it’s because of the caffeine.

I’m typing extremely rapidly and feel like my heart is the sub-woofer speaker in the back of a hotted-up Commodore going for laps down town on a Thursday night in 2009.

My brain is whirring.

What if I’m now addicted to coffee? Am I going to fritter away my money on takeaway coffees every day? Will my teeth go yellow? Am I drinking coffee that was grown using slave labour? Am I going to become a caffeinated zombie who can only function after a cup of Joe? Does this make me a full-on grown up now? Am I going to going to become a dull, adult bore? Am I just going to be living from coffee to coffee until death comes for me?

As you can see, coffee and my brain might not be the best combination.

I’m going to go put the kettle on – I think I should stick to tea.